


Foreign Nobility

by TK_DuVeraun



Series: Foreign Disturbance [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7923436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tale of the Champion is a little light on the ground when it comes to Squiggles and Cassandra's initial interrogation didn't glean any new information. However, when Squiggles arrives at Haven mere minutes before the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Varric is sat down in another dark room and asked for a second recounting of Hawke's time in Kirkwall.</p><p>---</p><p>OC from Not Thedas, but also Not Earth. Game scenes only revisited when critical changes apply. Complete past Dragon 9:41.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Squiggles is an OC created within a different intellectual property. Strangeness in her phrasing is from the common Thedosian language (or Trade Tongue or whatever we're calling it these days) not being her first (or fifth) language and the simple lack of words to even describe the concepts she wishes to express. And given the way she learned it, she hardly knows the extent of it to begin with. (Think: how do you explain antibiotics to people who don't know what bacteria are?)
> 
> Apologies for Purple!Garrett. He's not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. (The quality of his quips were determined by whether or not my husband said, "Ayyy" and gave me finger guns.)

"We've got a giant hole in the sky, everyone from the Conclave is dead except for the prisoner with the glowing hand and you want to hear about Squiggles? Have you lost your mind, Seeker? Wasn't Hawke enough?"

"You barely mentioned her in the Tale of the Champion. She arrived at Haven mere moments before the explosion. That is no coincidence.” Cassandra asserted, her voice hard.

Leliana slipped into the chair across from Varric. "And there is the matter of the... What did she call the other woman? The Mage General from her home. We can overlook nothing, Varric."

“I don’t know why you people think I know everything, but fine. Take a seat, Seeker, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

 

\---

 

Hawke’s second day in the Gallows, he was approached by a red-haired woman. Not red like Aveline, though, hers was the bright red of fresh blood. The stranger’s face was etched with tattoos of the same colour, but no one would mistake the sharp lines for elven vallaslin on such a classically human face. She stared first at Garrett before moving her eyes over the rest of his party. 

Carver blushed under her scrutiny and her mouth twisted into a scowl, the red lines of her tattoos moving with the expression.

“Why, if you’re not the friendliest refugee here,” Garrett said. He wore a straight staff on his back, harnessed at the same angle as his little brother’s greatsword. The sharp blade on the end let it pass for a glaive or similar polearm, but only barely.

The woman trained her scowl back on Garrett when he spoke. Her clothes were too big and hung loosely on her frame. Her arms were bare and dirty, but tight muscle rippled under her skin. She had to be a noble, what with her perfect skin and the mastercraft sword at her hip. The Blight spared no one. She spoke slowly, as if measuring each word in her mouth before letting it out. “You’re noble blood, but they do not let you in.”

Leandra pushed her way in front of her son, her grey hair wild in the wet wind that came over the Waking Sea. “There’s just been some mistake. My brother, Gamlen, will be here any moment to retrieve us.”

“Were I you, I’d not wait.” Her posture shifted then, from assertive to imperious, even if her baggy, dirty clothing tarnished the image. “I am Lord Fiona Kirash. I’ve found myself unable to return to my lands. I can get you into the city.”

“Not Lady Fiona? Now I’m just disappointed.” Garrett said with a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t mind him, my lord,” Aveline interjected after shooting Garrett a venomous look. Her face was tight with grief, but she kept her emotions in check and wasn’t about to be scammed. “But what is it you expect in return for your help?”

“My name is unknown in this… place. I would rather it remain such until it is a name worth knowing.” She turned one hand palm up. Though it was calloused from sword work, it was clear this woman was a stranger to hard labor. “I will pay the bribes and you will have me as one of your household until that time comes.”

Leandra whispered to Garrett as Aveline kept talking. “I won’t have someone else pay my debts.”

“Your honour does you credit, Warrior.”

“Aveline.”

The woman nodded. “Aveline. You and I can make arrangements once we’re inside.” Her nose wrinkled in obvious disgust. “I’ve had enough of this place.” She again addressed the Hawkes. “Do you agree to the terms?”

Carver, still red in the face, couldn’t meet her eyes, but answered regardless. “Member of the household, what does that even mean? This sounds like a scam.”

“Carver!” Leandra sighed at her younger son. “She just means that we treat her as a member of an allied family that stays with us and can act on behalf of our shared interests. Imagine her family is in Orlais, but wants to conduct business in Kirkwall. The matters are too delicate to give to someone outside of the family, but not so critical that they can afford a manor here.”

“Precisely.”

Garrett considered her for a moment. “It seems as if the biggest risk is involving the Amell name in questionable affairs. So it’s up to you, Mother.”

“Gamlen hasn’t responded to my letter. We don’t even know for sure he’s in the city right now; it could be weeks before we hear from him. We agree.”

Fiona gave the shallowest of bows. “I will arrange the bribes. Gather your things. I will return when all is ready.”

 

\---

 

Whatever the mysterious woman’s bribes were, they’d worked. The Hawkes and Aveline found themselves inside Kirkwall’s gates mere hours after her promise to clear it all up. Aveline was off, insisting on finding out how to pay her own way. “Suit yourself, Garrett had told her, only too happy to take advantage of “Lord” Fiona’s coin. More than enough to settle them all in the least seedy tavern in Kirkwall.

“I don’t trust her,” Carver said, the moment Leandra was up in her room and wasn’t around to object to their arguing. “Her” was also nowhere to be seen. 

“That’s a new one. You’ve  _ never  _ been difficult with my friends.”

“Be serious for a moment! We don’t know the first thing about her, and what little we  _ do  _ know is all wrong. She says she’s got lands, but she’s a ‘Lord’? In what country is a noblewoman not a ‘Lady?’” 

“Maybe she just doesn’t like the parts she was--”

“Shut  _ up _ , Garrett,” Carver insisted, pounding the table for emphasis. “It’s not just that. Those marks on her face, they’re nothing I’ve ever seen. She’s no Dalish or dwarf thug, that much is obvious.” 

“True, she’s far too tall.” 

“I’m serious--” 

“There’s a whole world out there beyond Ferelden,” the elder Hawke interrupted. “For all we know painting up your face and insisting on male titles is all the rage in Nevarra. Or the Anderfels. They’re all a bit  _ backwards  _ there.” 

“So that’s it, then? Put Mother in danger because there  _ might  _ be an innocent explanation?” 

Hawke rolled his eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, it was that or sit around in our own filth for weeks and wait for Uncle Gamlen to never show up. For all we know he drank away the family fortune years ago.” 

“Yeah! Maybe he’s in crushing debt and this is all some sort of trap. The Amells are known by sight here, and we were blabbing about Gamlen in front of everyone. She’s got us in, but now she’ll rob the shirts off our backs to pay his creditors.” 

“Oh you’d like that. I saw you going red back in the Gallows.”

“Oi… shut it!” 

“Just stop worrying. It’ll work out. Maker’s tits, you’re not even the apostate. I’m supposed to be the paranoid one.” 

“Speaking of, I have bad news and worse news,” Fiona said, having appeared just behind Garrett. She was clean and wearing leather armor so new it still creaked with every move she made. She slipped into a chair and looked down her nose at them.

“Is this the part where I say ‘Things can’t get any worse’ and it starts raining?”

“It seems the prejudice against mages in this city is worse than even the rumors would tell it.” She leaned back in the chair and took a drink from Carver’s pint.

“Great. And what’s the  _ worse _ news?” Carver snapped.

She stared at Carver, eyes narrowed as if he were even more distasteful now that he’d bathed. “I found the Amell estate in Hightown.”

“Let me guess, Uncle Gamlen’s not there.”

Fiona flipped a silver at him. “Double or nothing if you can guess who  _ is _ there.”

“Templars.”

“Slavers. And keep the silver. You’ll need it.” She finished Carver’s ale and signalled that she wanted another round for the table. “I sent a message to the Gallows that your ‘uncle’ is to be directed here if he ever does show up. If you’re lucky, he’s dead.”

Carver jerked to his feet, his chair falling to the floor behind him. “Look here, you-”

“Sit down and  _ shut up _ ,” Fiona hissed. “The other possibility is a shameful fall from grace filled with debtors and unpaid favors. If you’re  _ lucky _ , it will take only gold to put everything to rights.

Limbs stiff as a child’s doll, Carver picked up his chair and sat.

“You’re well informed, Lord Kirash.” Garrett said, tone light.

The woman nodded at Garrett and then at the bar hand that brought the next round. She sipped the ale and looked at both men over the glass. “I recommend that tomorrow you both set about finding jobs. If you know a trade, I can arrange tools, but you,” she pointed to Carver, “Are a soldier and you are…” She gestured to Garrett’s staff. “Obvious.”

“We have no reason to trust you,” Carver snarled.

“It’s no simple feat to be elevated to nobility. I  _ need _ you.  Your destitution just means  _ you _ need  _ me _ , in return.”

 

\---

 

“And that’s how it started,” Varric said, spreading his hands out in front of him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You never do, Seeker.”

Leliana tapped her bottom lip. “Where did Kirash get all of that gold? The bribes to get into Kirkwall during the Blight were not cheap.”

“Do you want to hear the story, or not?”

“That depends. How many versions of the story are there? You didn’t mention her when I questioned you about Hawke.”

“You may be scary, Seeker, but Squiggles wears Scary Bitch like it’s the most illustrious title in Thedas.”

“Please continue, Varric.” Leliana gestured to a servant and instructed the girl to bring them dinner.

“Garrett’s uncle eventually surfaced and it was just as bad as Squiggles guessed: he’d sold off the Amell holdings and was up to his neck in debt. With the last of Kirash’s liquid capital, Garrett bought a house in the market district. Occasionally, Squiggles would work jobs with the Hawke brothers, but other than that, they saw little of her. Whenever Leandra asked, the response was the same: she was trying to get herself elevated.

“She has financial sense and knows a good investment when she sees one, so I actually met her a few times before I met Hawke. Nothing really interesting happened until a year after they arrived in the Gallows.”


	2. Establishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Squiggles is not as good at making friends as Garrett.

“Fiona.”

“Garrett.”

“Fiona.”

“Garrett.”

“Andraste’s ass, it wasn’t funny the first time. Why do you two insist on doing this?” Carver whined. He’d filled out since arriving in the Gallows a year before, but regular work and proper armor weren’t enough to get rid of the chip on his shoulder.

“Relax little brother,” Garret said. He’d paused in the doorway, tightening the straps on his armor, in order to go through the usual routine with Fiona. His hair was short and styled in rakish spikes. His staff rested on his back, disguised as a double-ended polearm. His leather robes were  _ just _ armored-looking enough to pass as armor rather than, well, mage robes.

“We do it precisely because it makes you lose your composure.” Fiona sat at the heavy wooden table with a mug of coffee held in both of her hands. Her gloves, a fine, tailored pair of black leather, sat on the table between her elbows. She took care to always look pristine and more like a show piece than an actual fighter. The intricate sword hilt sparkling off her belt helped.

“I’m inquiring about the Deep Roads expedition today. Interested?” Garrett walked into the kitchen and ruffled his brother’s hair (who jumped out of his seat and flattened it down with an undignified squawk).

Fiona emptied her mug and then stood to rinse it out in the basin, tossing the soiled water out of the open window. Even after a year in Kirkwall she complained at least once a week about the lack of running water in the house. As if that were normal and not some hilarious Tevinter Magister luxury. “A mite. Regardless, I have some business with the Merchant’s Guild, so I’ll go with you.” She pulled on her gloves and adjusted the weight of the sword at her hip. “Try not to insult anyone, Carver.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who made fun of- You’re not even listening!”

“No, I’m not.” Fiona walk over to the stairs and shouted up. “Leandra. The housekeeper is coming today. Don’t let the girl startle you this time.” She stepped back up to the brothers. “After you, Hawke.”

Fiona walked with Carver, a step behind Garrett as they wound through the familiar city streets. The market district wasn’t a great place to live, even considering the trouble the copious bribes kept away, but it was near enough the center of the city that work was easy to find. “Your uncle’s managed to go an entire month without showing up at my door. I think he may finally be learning.”

Carver rubbed the back of his neck. “If only we were so lucky. He’s probably hiding from another creditor.” Unlike his brother, Carver wore thick, hardened leather with onyx plates for reinforcement. It was plain and worn, but well-maintained.

“More likely, true.” Fiona wove through the crowd, side stepping and dodging with fluid grace. “It’s been a few months, is your armor tight again, or are you done filling out?”

Carver blushed when he saw the critical way she eyed him over her shoulder (somehow dodging around a pram she couldn’t have seen). “No, uh, it’s fine. Great.”

“You’re a peach.” She patted his shoulder and then turned onto a side road. “I’ll catch up with you in a tick.” 

Before Carver could even decide if it she’d insulted or complimented him, she was gone, her bright red hair and expensive armor just vanishing in the crowd. He moved to stand at Garrett’s shoulder as his brother tried to convince the dwarf. When the dwarf initially refused, Carver tried his own approach, but his frustration mounted too quickly to be any good.  
  
Garrett made one last appeal, but the dwarf walked off in disgust just as Fiona rejoined them. “That well, hmm?”

“We’re better than anyone else he’s going to find. If only we could convince him…” Carver clenched his hands into fists and made a frustrated sound.

“And if wishes were coins, we’d all be rich,” Garrett finished.

Fiona shrugged, unconcerned. “There will be more work. There always is.”

“Says the one who doesn’t  _ need _ work.”

“Nobility isn’t- Tethras!” Fiona interrupted herself to address a second dwarf. He was wickedly handsome, with a sense of style-

 

\---

 

“Varric!”

“Alright, alright.”

 

\---

 

“Why Squiggles! If it isn’t my favorite human.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow at her. “Squiggles?”

She gestured to her face, but otherwise didn’t answer him. Fiona eyed Varric critically, even leaning in a bit. “What have you got for me today, Varric?”

“You know I love you, Squiggles, but I was actually trying to catch these two.” Varric chuckled and winked at her.

She turned both hands palm up and took a step back. Fiona had her fingers in a lot of pies, but always tried to make sure her name wasn’t attached to those fingers.

“Varric Tethras, at your service. Please, ignore my brother Bartrand; he’s too proud to admit we need people of your caliber. The underworld is abuzz with rumors about the Hawke brothers. I rather like all of my limbs where they currently are and rather don’t like the Deep Roads, so I’ve got a more practical view of the situation.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Just the Hawke brothers?” He gestured to Fiona, who was doing a frankly embarrassing job of acting like she wasn’t listening.

“Who else? Squiggles? Don’t be stupid. That sword is ornamental.” Varric waved the question off as ridiculous so well that Garrett wasn’t sure whether or not this dwarf really knew what she was capable of.

He glanced at Fiona, but she was just trying and failing to whistle, so he ignored her. “Moving on… How do you plan to convince your brother to bring us on?”

“You’re going about it the wrong way. Bartrand doesn’t need more hirelings; he needs investors. He may be proud, but for fifty sovereigns, he’ll come around.” Varric smirked up at the humans. Not a guarded or measuring smirk, however. This was the expression he wore when he knew he had a winning hand in Wicked Grace, all confidence.

“And how do you expect us to get fifty sovereigns before he goes ahead or cancels the whole thing?” Carver interjected.

“There’s plenty of work to be had. I’ll even come along to help speed up the process.” Varric reached over his shoulder and patted the crossbow on his back.

“Unlike proper creditors, I don’t charge interest,” Fiona added.

“See? You’ll be fine.”

“Fifty sovereigns for an expedition that might find nothing but rubble and darkspawn?” Garrett split his gaze between Varric and Fiona. The woman hadn’t been wrong  _ once _ in the last year when it came to worthwhile jobs and he and Carver had suffered the consequences of not listening enough times to pay attention if she had an opinion.

“I don’t know how I feel about taking another leap of faith like this.” Carver’s suspicion was written all over his face. Even after a year, he found Kirash equal parts attractive and suspicious and no parts trustworthy, regardless of her track record. “What about Mother?”

“I’ve made arrangements in case I happen to meet my untimely end.” She laughed at the very idea. “I’ve told you before, I have no family here. It would all go to her.”

“See? Everything’s going to be fine,” Varric said. He gave the brothers a winning smile. “Come see me in the Hanged Man later, we’ll discuss details.”

 

\---

 

Fiona did  _ not _ go to the Hanged Man. Any foray into Lowtown required a great reward and drinking questionable swill with a dwarf, even if they were friends, was not worth it. Instead, she escorted Leandra through Hightown and into the Chantry.

It was between services, but robed Sisters and the occasional Brother walked around, cleaning, lightning candles and speaking with parishioners. Fiona left Leandra to pray or contemplate or whatever religious people did walked slowly around the main chapel. She brought Leandra there at least once a week, so the tapestries, reliefs and statues were all familiar, but still a good distraction for her eyes.

She felt someone approaching, but didn’t turn away from the painting of Andraste’s pyre. Fiona had never had the time or opportunity to enjoy art before coming to the Free Marches. “Good afternoon, Brother Sebastian.”

He chuckled and moved to stand at her shoulder, his robes swishing quietly. His hair was a warm shade of auburn and his easy smile softened the otherwise sharp nobility of his features. “I approached directly from your blind spot. I don’t know how you do it.”

Fiona grinned, her tattoos stretching, and turned to look at him. “No duties?”

Sebastian gestured to the pew behind them. “I was hoping we could continue our conversation.”

“Of course.” Fiona slipped past him, adjusting her sword and then sitting comfortably. She removed her gloves and methodically massaged her right hand. “Where were we? Farmers? Actually, no.” All expression slipped off her face, replaced with the unnatural calm the Tranquil had.

“No..?” Sebastian asked, slowly moving to sit next to her, as if she were a skittish animal. He was somewhat used to her getting lost in thought, but never this emotionless look.

When she responded, her words came out slowly, as if she weren’t sure she actually wanted to say them. “I mentioned before that I notice things. Good investments, a man about to attack-”

“You reach out to catch something before it’s begun falling.” He grinned at her, remembering how she’d managed to save a priceless candelabrum. 

“Yes.” She met his gaze and her expression turned from calm to deadly serious. “Cities are always full of things ready to fall, but there’s something,  _ something _ awful about to fall and I don’t know where to put my hand.”

“You can’t try to save everything. We all must do what we can, but it’s equally important that you don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.” Sebastian’s voice was mild and he hesitated a few times, probably to ensure he wasn’t preaching. 

Fiona tilted her head and gave him a wane smile. “I expect, in times like these, it’s nice to have faith in the Maker.”

Sebastian just smiled back at her and put his hand on her wrist. Before he could respond to her comment, she froze, still as a statue. “Are you alright?”

“It’s you.” She turned to look at him, but her blue-eyed gaze was miles away. “You should… Write your family, I think.” She blinked a few times and then seemed to focus again, though there was something desperate about her expression. “Pardon me. There is so much bearing down on me, of late. Maybe I’m jumping at shadows.”

“Perhaps you need more rest. My father is the Prince of Starkhaven and our people love him. I’m sure they’re fine, but it has been some time since I wrote.” He looked down at his hand on her wrist, but wasn’t convinced releasing her would help whatever this… episode was.

“Yes. Of course.” Her words were measured. “I’m planning to join an expedition into the Deep Roads. It may be wearing on me.”

“The Deep Roads? Now that will be an adventure. May I ask what you hope to find?”

Fiona relaxed her posture, but didn’t pull back her arm. “Leandra’s boys are hoping to find a fortune. I’m just joining to ensure they make it out alive. And remember the dwarven friend I have in the Merchant’s Guild? He’s leading it with his brother.”

Sebastian nodded and looked as if he were considering something. “You always wear armor and that sword, but from the craftsmanship, I assumed it as an ornamental piece.”

She pulled back her wrist and spent a moment working the straps on her belt  before holding the blade in its sheath out to him.

His tawny eyebrows rose. “You’d allow me to inspect it?”

Fiona snorted and picked up his hand, turning it palm up. “You don’t get these callouses from singing the Chant. You’re not a swordsman, but that means little. Go on.” She pressed the weapon into his hands.

Sebastian held the sheath in his left hand and ran the fingers of his right hand over the crossguard. It shone a bright, reflective silver, though he couldn’t be certain what type of metal it was. The detailing on the guard made it look like tightly woven metal with a gentle curve. The grip was made of tightly braided, auburn leather that he initially wrote off as a replacement, but… “Are these runes? They’re too small to make out.”

Fiona nodded, a smile on her lips as she watched his examination. “The entire work is enchanted. The runes are legible under a looking glass.”

He gently ran his fingers over the detailed animal shaped into the pommel. “And what creature is this? It looks similar to the Orlesian lions, but it looks off.”

“No assumption it was artistic license?” Fiona chuckled, the last vestiges of that strangeness gone.

“Not on something like this.” He deftly tested the balance of the piece and glanced down the blade to see how straight it was. 

“You’re quite right. It’s a red lion, they’re native to…” She raised one hand, moving it through the air as if tracing the contours of a map. “Ferelden? The mountains that separate it from Orlais. Red lions are more agile than their Orlesian counterparts. And fiendishly clever.”

“This is truly a masterwork,” Sebastian said, clear awe in his voice. Clear in that he was so awed that his Starkhaven accent made his words nearly unintelligible.

“Thank yo-” She stood abruptly and held out her hands for the sheath and blade. “Oh, I’m sorry. It seems Leandra is ready to return. We can continue this another time.”

“I would like that.”

 

\---

 

“Garrett…”

“Fiona…”

“I swear by the Maker, if you two start this aga-”

“Talk louder Carver, I don’t think all of Hightown heard you yet.” He turned back to Fiona. “Yes?”

Fiona tilted her head to look down her nose at him. “Your mother will murder you if you kill someone in the Chantry.”

“You wound me, my lord. I am simply performing a favor for a friend.” Garrett bowed low in front of her and opened the door.

Just past the threshold, Anders was waiting. His robes were in tatters and his hair was roughly tied back. He ushered them in and lead them to the back of the Chantry while giving Garrett the rest of the details. Fiona followed a few steps behind, her own boots making no sound as she walked.

“It’s too quiet. Something’s about to go wrong,” Carver whispered down to her. He glanced around the Chantry, but every shadowed alcove could have been hiding something

“I know. I hope these maps are worth it.” Fiona’s magic screamed at her that they were walking into a trap, which would have been helpful if they hadn’t known it was a trap from the beginning. 

They stood behind Anders and Garrett as they spoke to Karl, whose voice was monotone and stiff. Carver rubbed his arms over his armor, as if trying to fight off a chill at the sound. Growing up in a family of mages, Carver knew just how horrific Tranquility was.

Fiona felt eyes on her and tilted her head back to look up into the eaves. Her eyes met Sebastian’s blue ones and they exchanged frowns, but she did nothing to alert the others. Sebastian made some vague hand motions to her and then pointed in the direction of sleeping quarters. Fiona nodded and looked away.

Once she looked back to the Hawkes, her magic alerted her to the imminent attack. “Templars!” She shouted just as the armored men crept out of hiding.

Fiona reached for her sword, but froze, hand on the ornate hilt, when Anders convulsed and glowed with a wicked blue light. She hissed out a breath and turned to the templar advancing on her. Her sword had didn’t have the reach of her attacker’s, so she waited for him to strike. 

The templar stepped into range, but instead of striking out with his sword, he raised it up and… Something. There was a bright blue light that washed over Fiona, but it didn’t feel like anything and her magic gave no warning. She decided to question it later and dashed forward, whipping her sword forward and cutting him down with a few precise slashes, her blade easily cutting through his armor.

Once the templars were dead on the floor, she stared at Karl, her posture unflinching as he begged Anders to kill him before he lost himself again. When it was done, she held up her hand. “We are  _ not _ leaving this carnage here in the Chantry.” She squatted and threw one of the templars over her shoulder. “Get the bodies out and then  _ you, _ ” she nearly spit at Anders, “will use your magic to clean up this gore.”

Anders opened his mouth to complain, but Fiona had already turned her back on him, easily carrying a man twice her weight in full plate armor. Sebastian didn’t appear as they cleaned, but neither did anyone else living in the Chantry, so he must have succeeded in waylaying anyone drawn to the noise.

The fury didn’t leave her face until they were already in Darktown. It had diminished to only a frown by that point, but it was likely to get worse the longer she had to remain in that pit. 

Once they were inside Anders’s dingy clinic, Garrett and Carver both started into Anders about what a danger he was. Anders remained calm and explained his situation, which mollified the Hawke brothers.

Anders looked at her, expression beseeching, all but begging for her acceptance. “What do you think?”

“You are an unmitigated  _ disaster  _ given legs and a voice. Because you have not found one, you assume no solution exists for your sorry state.”

“There’s nothing to separate,” Anders insisted. “We’re one now.”

Fiona scoffed and didn’t bother to respond to that. “I don’t support your ‘cause’, but neither will I hinder you. Risk yourself for ‘mage rights’ if you wish.” She gestured to the clinic. “This is necessary, even for the price of your zealotry. I will neither encourage nor discourage the Hawke brothers from assisting you, but don’t think to ask favors of me.”

 

\---

 

The sand on the Wounded Coast was dry and deep, but Fiona walked across the surface as if she weighed nothing. She followed the markers set by the city guard to denote their route, but it wasn’t the guard she was looking for. Eventually, she found her target, a lean elf with raised tattoos of lyrium marking his skin. “Fenris. I’m Fiona. Garrett said you’d be expecting me.” She unshouldered her pack and tossed it onto the sand in front of him.

Fenris raised up off of the driftwood log in a single, effortless motion. The greatsword on his back swayed with his easy movements as he opened the pack to inspect the food and potions. He looked up at her. “I don’t need your pity,  _ mage _ .”

Fiona tilted her head to the side as she considered him. He was lean and slight, but with clearly defined muscles - very similar to her own build. “I’m not a mage. It’s also not pity, but I feel that’s not the real issue.” 

Without warning, Fenris leapt at her, drawing his sword once he was already in the air.

Fionna dodged the first swing and parried the second with her short sword. They danced, trading blows and kicking up sand. Unable to control herself, Fiona laughed in delight. “You’re the best swordsman I’ve met since I came here.”

“Quiet, mage!” Fenris launched a second assault, his sword nearly a blur with his unnatural strength. His lyrium markings flashed on and off a few times, but he didn’t phase completely.

“You can press as hard as you like,” Fiona said, winded, “but I won’t spontaneously develop magic.”

Fenris finally drew back, though he kept his grip on his sword. “You  _ walk _ like a mage.”

A shing of metal on metal sounded as Fiona replaced her sword in its sheath. “So I’ve been told. The templar Knight-Captain was so convinced he felt the need to smite me. Twice.”

“Why have you come, then?”

“Garrett told me how skilled you were. I wanted to see for myself. I’ve been losing my edge here.” Unafraid of Fenris’s still-aggressive posture, Fiona folded her legs under her to sit in the sand. She adjusted her position a few times to keep sand from pouring into her boots. “And one of my friends has disappeared.”

“Ah, I see. You need my help.” Fenris returned his sword to the harness on his back and then picked up the pack. After sitting on his driftwood bench, he pulled out a loaf of bread and bit off a large chunk.

“Not at all. I believe I know where he went and if I’m correct, he will stay gone.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I felt it prudent to make new friends.”

“I’m not interested in your  _ friendship _ .”

“Rather than friendship, I more need something to do with my time. Aside from swordplay, I sense we have nothing in common. I would, however, enjoy training with you.” She took a long pull from her waterskin.

Fenris took a moment to consider this, staring at her as he worked on the bread. “I can see the merit in that.”

They sat in a companionable silence until their breathing returned to normal and the sounds from the Waking Sea rose in volume as the tide began to turn. Fenris spoke first. “What is your connection to Hawke?”

“I paid the bribes to get him and his family into Kirkwall and now they are helping me rise to nobility.”

Fenris spit into the sand near her. “Nobility.”

“I  _ did _ say we should restrict our interactions to swords work.”  
  
Fenris chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “At least you’re aware.”

Slowly and with intentionally telegraphed motions, Fiona stood and then moved to sit within arm’s length. She drew her sword and then delicately held it out for Fenris to examine.

Fenris took it by the grip, careful to avoid the edge. “This is a fine piece. I’ve never seen a blade this sturdy keep an edge this sharp.” He tested the balance and looked down the blade. “I can only imagine what you paid for it.”

“It was commissioned for my family as a gift many years ago. I don’t know what my ancestor did to earn it, but I am glad they did.”

Fenris nodded, now bent over the blade to examine the miniscule runes. “I’m surprised it can handle so many enchantments.”

“I’m curious about the techniques used in its creation, but not enough to let a mage examine it to that extent.”

Fenris extended the sword to her. “Would you like another round, or will you be returning to the city?”  
  
“Another, I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the sword is important and native to Thedas, though Squiggles is not.
> 
> Also, can we talk about how _no one_ in the Chantry came out to see what the whole ruckus with Justice fighting the templars over Karl was?


	3. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act 1 comes to an end. A misunderstanding is cleared up. Sebastian begins to try and see how many times he can say "I'm the last of my line" before people start snickering at him and telling him that's an easy problem to fix.

“Oh my, your tattoos do look like vallaslin, don’t they?” Merrill chirped as they walked through Hightown so Garrett could check the Chanter’s Board. The Dalish was all but bouncing with each step and had been talking Fiona’s ear off the entire walk. The elf’s staff was wrapped in thread-bare cloth that did very little to hide its nature, but enough that no one accused her in the street. “That’s why Varric calls you Squiggles, isn’t it?”

“It is. And I suppose they do look like that. A lot of people commented on them when I first came to Kirkwall, so I found out what vallaslin were. Very interesting. Where I am from, the most powerful families wear the marks of their House on their skin, in addition to any signet rings and other objects.” Fiona felt her muscles tensing as they approached the Chantry. 

She hadn’t been there since… Well, since the soul-crushing foreboding she’d felt surrounding Sebastian’s family had passed.. She didn’t feel guilty, per se, but she felt  _ off _ . The Grand Cleric had sent her a message, through Leandra, that Sebastian had returned…. But that he was unwell and urging her to leave him alone during this time of internal conflict.

“Oh my, I can’t imagine such a place. Humans walking around with vallaslin! It must be the opposite of an alienage.” Merrill said the word with delight. The deep despair of the alienage seemed to have yet to affect her. “It’s taking a while to get settled in the alienage, but there’s so much of the city to see. People always talk about how dangerous Kirkwall is, but I haven’t run into any trouble.”

Varric grunted.

“You might just be getting lucky. You shouldn’t risk yourself needlessly.” Fiona replied, making a mental reminder to confirm that Varric was responsible for Merrill’s “luck.” She made to say something else, but stopped herself when she saw the Grand Cleric having an argument right in front of the Chanter’s Board.

“Stop this madness. The Chantry cannot condone revenge.” The Grand Cleric’s words were firm, but not angry. Her body was held tense, her frown deep.

“It is my right; it is my duty to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide.”  The man was handsome: auburn hair and sharp noble features. He wore stroking white armor - a mix of leather and brilliantly shined metal plates.

“Oh no, that can’t be good,” Merrill said. She clutched her hands together just under her chin.

Fiona was speechless. She hadn’t recognized Sebastian in his armor, at first. She’d known he used a bow, but this… Her noble nature clawed inside her chest, eager to dig its claws into this  _ prince _ . She bit her tongue against the assertion that nobility suited him better than the Chantry ever had.

“This is murder.” The Grand Cleric said as she tore the ad down. The frown on her face was marked with open disappointment.

“No. What happened to my family was murder.” Sebastian turned to walk away, but Fiona grabbed his wrist, her gloved hand closing over the burnished, white metal.

“What ha-”

“You! This is  _ your _ fault.” He jerked his arm out of her grasp and glared. “You knew. You  _ knew _ and you did  _ nothing _ .” He snarled the words at her, accent thick with anger.

She fell back a step, as if his words hit her as a physical blow. Hurt splashed across her face before she reined it in. Fiona’s expression turned serious, but she managed to curb the rest of her feelings. “I just-”

“Don’t  _ ever  _ speak to me again,” Sebastian said before storming off, deaf and blind to anything around him.

“He certainly seems angry. Did you kill his family, Fiona?” Merrill asked, eyes wide.

The question surprised Fiona so much she started laughing, though it edged on hysteria. “No, Merrill. I didn’t.” She looked over at Garrett, who was holding the notice. “What’s going on?”

“Just another job. I’m  _ much _ more interested in that little display.” Garrett smirked at her.

The wind whipped at Fiona’s hair and the flyer in Hawke’s hand. She shook her head, pushing down the emotions reeling in her chest. “I’d explain it if I could. The ad?”

Varric snatched the paper from Garrett’s hand. “Looks like Prince Vael and his family from Starkhaven were all murdered. Probably a coup. Assassination by a group of mercs called the ‘Flint Company’. Doesn’t explain why the Grand Cleric was having a fit, though. Seems pretty standard, well, murder of a Prince aside.”

“The man that posted it is a Chantry Lay Brother. Was. I don’t know.”

Varric’s mouth made a little ‘o.’ “Well, he’s put a good price on this Flint Company. It’ll take us a good way to getting the expedition off the ground.”

“Don’t you mean ‘in the ground?’” Garrett quipped, to no one’s enjoyment.

 

\---

 

“My, my, my, where has Garrett been hiding you?” Isabela stalked around Fiona, looking the red head up and down before licking her lips. She threw her loose brown hair over her shoulder and her many earring clinked together. “I’m Captain Isabela.”

“Nowhere quite so fun as you’re imagining.” Fiona hadn’t even moved a step when she grabbed Isabela’s hand on its way into one of her her pouches. “And next time you try to pickpocket me, I’ll stop your hand with my sword.”

Isabela took back her hand with a smirk and blown kiss.

“Squiggles, you made it!” Varric threw his arms up in greeting. “You never come into Lowtown.”

Fiona stuck her thumb out at Isabela’s face. “There’s a reason for that.” She sat on the chair next to Varric’s and leaned back with a sigh. Her hair was loose, the only sign that she wasn’t expecting a fight. “We playing, or what?”

“Keep your trousers on,” Garrett said, bringing over a tray of pints, the foam tipping over the edge with his poor balance.

“Or don’t,” Isabela added, taking the chair next to Fiona. She put no effort into hiding the obviousness of her breasts shaking in her too-small shirt.

“Really? Because people tend to get angry when I walk around without trousers.” Merrill had dirt smudged on her cheek and her staff was blatantly displayed over her shoulder.  
  
Carver blushed furiously and stared down at his pint as if he could fall into it. He chanced a glance at Merrill, but snapped his gaze away when Isabela started laughing.

“Alright, alright, buy in everyone.” Varric said as he started dealing the cards. They were faded and worn from use.

Conversation was light and the winnings were just used on more ale. Fiona was absolutely hopeless at bluffing, giving even Merrill a run for her money at losing money. Isabela and Varric cheated, sometimes more blatantly than others. Carver did well enough when he was focused, but the smallest thing would set him off blushing and stammering. (Isabela only sometimes took advantage of this.)

When Isabela left the table to relieve herself, Fiona moved to wait for her at the edge of the room. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of piss and stale ale that permeated the pub, so much stronger away from her friends, but she had need of the pirate.

“Ooh, did you change your mind, sweetheart?” Isabela all but purred into Fiona’s ear when she returned.

“No, but not from lack of effort on your part.” Fiona made a show of giving Isabela’s cleavage an appreciative look. “I wouldn’t call you charming or subtle, but, rest assured, if you had different genitals, the answer would be different.”

“Tease.” Isabela laughed. “So why pull me aside? Fashion advice? You could do better than that frumpy brown leather.”

“I’m going on the Deep Roads expedition, whenever that happens, and I’d rather Carver not be…” She gestured to where he was blushing and stammering at some comment of Merrill’s. “Like that the entire time.”

“Well  _ that’s _ easy.” Isabela licked her lips and looked the younger Hawke up and down again.

“He’s too classist for the Blooming Rose and I’d rather he’d not develop  _ feelings _ for me. I don’t think anyone would expect to have a relationship by simple virtue of joining you in bed. Or against the wall. Or whatever you have in mind. You get the idea.” Fiona’s tone was conversational, a little bored, even: the same tone she used when making deals with the Merchant’s Guild.

“I see what you’re getting at, but I don’t know, he just seems so… virginal.” Despite her words, Isabela seemed to be considering it.

“All the better for you to teach him how to do it properly. You’ll do some poor girl a big favor.” Fiona nudged the other woman with her elbow. “I know you  _ love _ helping poor girls out.”

“And here I thought you disapproved of me!” Isabela took her arm as if they were the best of friends and started all but prancing back to the table.

“I just prefer more discretion on my own affairs,” Fiona replied, tone mild.

“I’ll think about it. Come, I want to win more coin off you.”

 

\---

 

Fiona jumped nearly out of her own skin when someone grabbed her hand from behind. She had been walking across one of the raised walkways in Hightown, determined to make it home before the sun fully set. Her senses always told her when someone was approaching her with intent, but not this time. She spun, drawing her sword and leaping back from her attacker.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Sebastian said. He was still wearing the white armor he’d had on when he posted the note on the Chanter’s board, but it shone a warm gold in the light of the setting sun. His eyes were haunted and his skin was pale under his tan. His face couldn’t seem to settle on any one expression.

Fiona took a few tentative steps forward after sheathing her sword, but kept her guarded expression. Her chest ached with the conflicting emotions she’d pushed away before. “Broth-”

“It’s- Just Sebastian, for now. I had to take leave of my vows to return to Starkhaven. I’m sorry, I…” He took her hands again and broke eye contact. He held onto her like a lifeline. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. You couldn’t have known at all, let alone done something to stop it. I’m sorry.”

Fiona squeezed his hands and then moved to lean against the walkway’s railing to look over Hightown, one hand still clasped in his. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes anymore than he could. “You’re forgiven. You’re grieving a terrible loss. And now, you stand at the precipice of a life you never thought you’d have. I’m sorry; I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

Sebastian stood quietly next to her for some time. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I will endure. I must. I’m the last of my line.”

She chanced a glance at him, his profile lit softly by the waning light from the sun. “You’ll make a fine prince, Sebastian.”

He released her hand just to slip his arm through hers and take it again, most closely connected. “I was a rebellious, stupid, shameful youth. My parents gave me to the Chantry so I could no longer dishonour the Vael name. I was angry at first, resentful. But eventually, I realized it was my calling to serve the Maker.”

“I can scarcely imagine you as rebellious.” Fiona let a smirk sit on her face, tilting her head slightly. “I can, however, imagine how you feel now.”

“Oh?” He squeezed her fingers gently, but didn’t turn to her.

“It’s difficult to describe my home, but the upper classes are… deplorable. Slavery, torture, political and literal backstabbing behind every corner. You can care for no one because they will be killed. You can trust no one because you will be killed. My family didn’t follow these practices, but not because it’s wrong to do those things.

“It is a status symbol, to have so much coin you can pay what would otherwise be slaves. A symbol to be so powerful you have no need of assassination. That’s how I was raised. How I lived and  _ breathed _ . One day, I walked within my holdings to meet the people,  _ my _ people, and I could never be as I was again. I had a choice, but there was no other option I could take.”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “The difference between caring only for yourself and caring for others.”

“My family didn’t approve of my new ideology. None of the hierarchy did. That’s how I came to be exiled here.”

“I need to find justice for my family, but I’m afraid of becoming who I was before.” He turned to her and waited until Fiona met his eyes. “Do I want to reclaim my birthright because it is the right thing to do, or because I want the power that comes with it?”

“You reclaim it because it is the only way forward.” The knot in her chest relaxed somewhat. She knew this truth in her bones. “You don’t need the crutch of being bound by vows to be a good man, Sebastian. You can do the Maker’s work better as a Prince than as a Brother. How many of the truly faithful are in power here? And if nothing else, your people need stability. The contracts and treaties and agreements made by your family will no longer be renewed without a second thought. The stability of the city will crumble.”

“I wish I could be so sure.” His gaze wavered, drifting away from the certainty in hers, but only for a moment.

Fiona knows better than to push. “I wish I’d been wrong about your family. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian stepped away from the railing and pulled Fiona along by her hand. “Thank you. For everything. Come now. It’s late; I’ll escort you home.”

 

\---

 

“I thought you hated Lowtown, Fiona.” Merrill said, tone far brighter than the light that reached this part of the city. 

Fiona dropped the wrist she’d just broken and looked at Merrill as if someone hadn’t just attempted to pickpocket her. She could barely fathom how Merrill didn’t see her grab and attack the scoundrel right before her eyes, but the elf was…special. “I do, but Garrett said he was coming to see that mirror of yours and I had to take a look.”

Merrill skipped a step ahead to walk next to Garrett, his staff far more convincingly disguised. “It’s still broken, you know.”

“That’s fine. I already know what I look like.” He grinned down at her and started telling her about Fenris, waving his hands to accentuate his descriptions.

Carver stepped into stride with Fiona, his greatsword swaying with every step. “How can she just prance around Lowtown like that?”

“Varric has people watching out for her. Isabela and I chip in to cover the cost.” She skirted around a puddle of  _ extremely _ questionable contents. Fiona shuddered at the thought of walking even a single step around here without boots.

“Oh, I should probably-” Carver started.

“Focus on funding the expedition. And then on paying me back. Merrill is covered. And I would assume from how much you blush around her, you don’t want her to find out and think she owes you.” Fiona grinned and poked him.

“I- What- I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Carver spit out, face red.

“I’m not talking about anything,” she said.

“Right! Good.”

They passed into the alienage. A templar was just leaving, looking perturbed, though not murderous, which was good. Garrett and Merrill were ahead, talking to a Dalish woman. When they caught up, the woman was just squeezing Garrett’s forearm and walking off.   
  
Carver watched the woman go. “What’s that about?”

“Her son is missing and probably in danger.” Garrett said, as calmly as if it happened every day. Though, in the alienage, it just might.

Fiona hissed out a breath. “A lone, young elf outside of the alienage isn’t good.”

“He passes for human, at least,” Garrett replied, tone lighter than his expression.

“At least.”

Garrett cleared his throat and turned to Merill. “The mirror?”

“Oh yes. You all were just looking very serious. Was I not making a serious face?” Merrill asked, eyes wide.

Carver laughed and touched her shoulder. “It was very serious. Here, lead on.”

Merrill let them into her ‘house’ in the alienage, such as it was. They crowded in, Fiona and Garrett examining the mirror while Carver vainly tried to keep some physical distance from the others. “Oh my, you’re all very big aren’t you?”

Carver made a strangled noise while Fiona and Garrett snorted in unison, though mercifully said nothing.

Fiona removed one of her gloves and lightly ran her bare fingers along the edging. “The craftsmanship is extraordinary.”

Garrett nodded his agreement. His right hand was enveloped in a soft white light as he examined it with his magic. “The metalwork resembles your sword, actually, Squiggles.”

“It should. Merrill did say this was made in Arlathan.” Fiona squawked as Merrill all but tackled her to get her hands on the sword. 

“Your sword is from  _ Arlathan?! _ ” Merrill pressed her face just an inch away from the hilt.

Fiona gently pushed the girl away. “You’ve already seen it. Is it really that special?”

Merrill began babbling, too quickly to follow, and remained firmly inside of Fiona’s personal space.

Fiona caught Garrett’s eye and mouthed, “Help me.”

 

\---

 

“Squiggles, what are you doing out here on the Wounded Coast?” Varric asked.

Fiona was splattered in blood and dirt, but looked to be in one piece. She hopped over the slight ridge and landed next to Isabela. “I was just taking an early evening walk with our friends from the Flint Company.”

Garrett stood at the mouth of a cave with Aveline next to him. For once, his expression was stern and set, a far cry from his usual amusement.

Carver looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “By yourself?”

She just shrugged.

“That should have been the last of them. We’ll have to go tell Choir Boy.” Varric pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote a note on it with a piece of charcoal.

“What are  _ you _ doing here, is a better question, Varric.” Fiona brushed some of the loose hair from her braid out of her face. She walked over and clasped hands with Aveline. “It’s been a long time, Guard Captain.”

“We received information about a Tevinter slave deal coming out of this cave tonight,” Aveline answered. She stood tall and proud, her armor well-worn, but fully functional, even if the badge of her rank remained in place by only a few threads.

“Remember the boy Feynriel, with the Dalish mother in the alienage?” Garrett added. The blade on his staff caught the waning light and seemed to glitter with power.

Fiona looked around at the group assembled and nodded. “That explains why you didn’t bri-”

Aveline cut her off. “I just got them to shut up, Kirash. Don’t get them started again with their jokes and quips. We don’t have much time.”

Fiona smiled, but kept silent, simply following Aveline and Garrett’s lead into the cave. With such a large group, they made quick work of the slavers. Such quick work, Isabela complained that she was bored while looting the bodies with Varric.

The mage boy whined at Garrett and Fiona bit her tongue to keep from giving him a verbal lashing. He’d been through enough, what with almost being dragged off to slavery in Tevinter. Garrett didn’t need much convincing before he agreed to take the boy to Clan Sabrae.

“As lovely as this place is, what with the fresh corpses,” Fionna said, “it’s the middle of the night  _ and _ there’s an absolutely lovely thunderstorm going on outside.”

“Do you have to do that? Garrett is bad enough on his own. Now there’s him, and you and Varric,” Carver whined as they started searching the cave for materials to set up a proper camp away from the bodies.

“So you’ll complain about me and Squiggles, but not Isabela?” Varric asked, winking at Fionna. The dwarf knew too much sometimes.

“That’s not- She’s different.” Carver stumbled through the words. His face was flushed so brightly he almost glowed. “And shut up!”

Once they had a fire going, Garrett pulled Feynriel aside to discuss the boy’s magic. Varric settled down next to Fiona and Isabela while Aveline and Carver settled on either end of the camp to stand guard.

“Is that sword of yours really from Arlathan? Daisy just about wet herself telling me about it.” Varric stared at Fiona with his appraising look. His tone had been light, but Fiona didn’t doubt he’d remember every word she said and  _ how _ she said them.

“The Dalish will pay anything for relics from their dead empire,” Isabela said, spinning a coin between her fingers. She was almost as good at playing bored, but the quirk of her lips gave her away.

Fiona drew the sword and held it next to the fire. She changed her grip and it began to glow softly as some of the enchantments activated. “It is. And it’s probably the reason the templars keep smiting me. So much magic pressed into a single object. One of the Circle mages said it feels like a mage all on its own.”

“And, of course, that has nothing to do with you being a mage,” Isabela said, though she eyed the sword hungrily.

“You want the truth? I’m not connected to the Fade  _ at all _ . Grand Enchanter Orsino said I was essentially a dwarf walking around in a human’s body.” Fiona shrugged.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“ _ He _ said it like it was a bad thing. Personally, I’m rather happy with not dreaming in the land of spirits.”

Varric pointed at her. “How can you dream at all if you’re not connected to the Fade?”

Fiona sheathed the sword and untied her braid while she thought about how to answer. “Maybe dream isn’t the right word. This language is so bizarre. Anyway, when I sleep, I still think, just… very quietly? It doesn’t wake me up.”

“Oh  _ that _ ,” Varric said with a chuckle. “That’s how I get my best ideas.”

Isabela cut in, “I thought that was eavesdropping in the Hanged Man.”

“A great author has many sources.”

 

\---

 

Garrett lead Carver and Fiona through the Chantry to the back where Sebastian was kneeling in front of one of the many statues of Andraste, head bent in prayer. His armor gleamed in the candlelight. “Sebastian Vael?”

Sebastian stood and looked at the brothers; somehow, he didn’t immediately notice Fiona standing a step behind them. “Pardon me, who are you?”

“I’m Garret Hawke and this is my brother Carver. You already know, Fiona, I think. She brings my mother to the Chantry every now and then.”

Sebastian looked at the three of them for a moment before enthusiastically shaking hands with each man in turn. “I was wondering when I would meet Fiona’s husband.”

As one, Carver, Garrett and Fiona said “What?” with varying levels of incredulity and shock. They looked between each other, as if each expected one of the others to admit to some kind of joke.  
  
Face red, Sebastian ran a hand over his hair. “No?”

Garrett laughed and gave an emphatic  _ no _ . “She’s an ally of our family, the Amells.”

“Of course, my mistake.” Sebastian chuckled again, but it was tight and a host of emotions flitted across his face. “How can I help you?”

Garrett waited a moment before answering, now somewhat wary of what the former Chantry brother might say. “I’ve dealt with the Flint Company.”

“You… I thought for sure the Grand Cleric wouldn’t leave my notice up on the board.” Sebastian looked at Garrett with wonder on his face.

“I was standing right there when you posted it,” Fiona reminded gently.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, Fiona.” When she waved off his apology he turned back to Garrett. “You have my eternal gratitude, serah. It’s comforting to think my family might now rest easily in their graves.”

“I’m happy I was able to help. I’m sure you’ll rest easier, too, now that the Flint Company isn’t able to stab you in your sleep.” Garrett mimed some stabbing motions (completely ineffectual ones, but everyone else was too polite to comment).

Sebastian chuckled, but it was weak. “Yes, that was another reason I wanted them dealt with. I can’t imagine who would want to do that to my family. We have enemies, but none that would declare themselves openly. A distant cousin of mine has claimed rulership, but he is just a pawn in this.” He let out a sigh. “I’ll have your payment sent to your residence. The place in the market district?”

“Yes, and, actually, I was wondering if you could do us a favor?”

“Anything, Serah Hawke.”

“You might regret that,” Carver muttered.

“The three of us are part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. I was wondering if you would be able to escort my mother here to the Chantry while we’re away.”  
  
“I’d be happy to. May the Maker watch over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: THE DEEP ROADS.
> 
> Also, I may have to beat my husband to death with a coconut. He couldn't get the DA2 DLC to work and somehow managed not only to wipe all of the DAI cloud saves, but then _synced_ the complete lack of saves to my computer.
> 
> Thank god I had online backup so I could roll back a few days and recover my saves.


	4. Goblin Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down, down to Goblin Town. Er, the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the more gimmicky parts of this section. But only a little. You know you love it.

“The money from Choir Boy’s bounty was enough to finally fund the expedition. Bartrand wasn’t happy about bringing a delicate, noble, flower like Squiggles along, but we didn’t give him much choice. After we finalized the preparations, we used Blondie’s map and entered the Deep Roads.”

“She went into the Deep Roads with the Champion? She’s not mentioned  _ at all _ in that section.”

“Look, Seeker, there’s a really good reason for that and I’m going to get to it, if you’d just let me finish.”

“Of course, Varric. Do continue,” Leliana said, pushing a pint to him.

 

\---

 

“Did I mention I hate the Deep Roads? Least favorite part about being a Warden, and that includes when they made me get rid of Ser Pounce,” Anders complained as the small party trudged ahead through yet another tunnel. His tattered coat stood out amongst the sharp lines of tailored armor on most of the others.

“Only the  _ entire time _ ,” Carver growled, glaring daggers at the back of the mage’s head. He hadn’t adjusted well to the inability to differentiate ‘day’ from ‘night’ and was progressively getting cattier. “We get it, already. What  _ I  _ want to know is why we’re doing all the hard work if we’re ‘investors.’” 

“I’m just hoping we run into more darkspawn soon so both of you will shut up for a minute,” the elder Hawke said, shaking his head. A magelight flitted around his shoulders, hardly emitting enough light to contest the red glow from the lava flows that lit this part of the Deep Roads. The tiny buzz of magical energy served only to help him stay focused in the endless repetition of the depths.

Varric chuckled. “Bartrand’s useless anyway. You sure you want to leave finding your fortune to him or some of those brainless mercs he brought along? At least this way you can be sure you’ve found what there is to find.” 

“ _ If  _ there’s anything to find.”

“Trust me, Junior. You can’t spit in the Deep Roads without hitting some priceless artifact of my people.” Varric paused, a grin breaking across his face. “Or something merchants will think is priceless.” 

“All the same to me,” Garrett laughed. 

“But did Ser Pounce  _ like  _ it down here?” Merrill was saying to Anders in the back, clearly still fixated on that instead of anything else happening.

“I don’t know. He couldn’t exactly tell me. Scratched a genlock once, though.” Anders rubbed the stubble on his chin as he remembered.  
  
“Maybe you just weren’t listening. How do you even know he liked being called Ser Pounce?”

“Uh… well...”

“Focus,” Fiona commanded, pushing past the straggling mages. A little bit of white light seeped out of her sword’s sheath as the enchantments reacted to the latent energy so far underground. “We need to pay attention. Something is  _ very _ wrong here.”

Garrett’s hoped-for darkspawn didn’t take long to attempt an ambush after her warning. Prepared as they were, the creatures were no trouble for them. “You’re right. Bartrand’s mercs wouldn’t have survived  _ that _ ,” Garrett said, smirking. He spun his staff in a completely unnecessary flourish.

“The darkspawn aren’t the only thing to worry about down here,” Fiona told him, expression drawn and voice tight.  “Don’t relax just yet.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“Lord.” 

“M’lord..” 

“Peasant.” 

“Don’t start that again.” Carver groaned and pushed ahead, almost stumbling over another pile of rubble. “ _ Ouch _ . This place is a nightmare!” 

“We’ve got to be getting close to  _ something  _ by now. The thaig didn’t look  _ that  _ large on the maps,” Varric said, squinting as he looked ahead. 

“We could use a cat right now,” Merrill declared, half hanging off of Anders’s arm.  “They’re good at finding things.” 

Fiona ignored them all and kept walking, apparently having a sense of the proper direction… somehow. A few twisting turns later, Varric drew a sharp breath and beckoned for them to follow. 

“We found… something.” 

The tunnel opened into a proper room of the old thaig. A set of stone stairs opened before them, leading up to…. 

“It looks like an altar.”  
  
“And there’s something on it,” Garrett said, moving quickly up the stairs. His boots made loud, echoing slaps against the stone.

“Some sort of figurine,” Varric agreed, once he reached the top. He pulled out a jeweller’s eyeglass out of one of his coat pockets and leaned over the object.

“Lyrium?”

“Wrong color. Doesn’t look like any lyrium I’ve ever seen.” 

Garrett shrugged and stretched his hand towards the idol, but Fiona grabbed his arm before he could. “Don’t touch it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Carver said, scowling. “This is the first thing we’ve found in here that looks like it’s actually valuable!” 

“It’s  _ evil _ .”  
  
“... It’s a thing, it can’t be evil.”

“Have you ever  _ seen _ a boobytrap?”

Garrett laughed uneasily, pulling his hand back and actually moving a step away. “Carver, this is the woman who said  _ blood magic _ isn’t evil. In front of a templar I might add. If she says it’s no good, she might have a point.” 

“I say that, too. A lot, actually.” Merrill said.

“Still not sure how we talked our way out of that one,” Varric agreed, though he kept staring at the crimson-colored idol. 

“I got smited. By three templars and the Knight-captain,” Fiona said dryly. She seemed to sway where she was standing, as if she were starting to crumple under some invisible weight.

“Oh my, I wouldn’t want to be smited. That sounds awfully uncomfortable.”

“Just don’t talk about blood magic not being so bad in the Gallows and you’ll probably be alright, Merrill,” Garrett quipped.    


“Or you could just not do blood magic,” Anders interjected.

“Not the time, Anders!” Fiona spat the words out from between clenched teeth. The glowing from her sword has reached a fever pitch and its light streaks across her face and makes her expression more sinister.

“Varric?” They turned to see Bartrand at the entrance to the room. The older dwarf trundled up the stairs, as if in a daze. “Did you find something?” 

“Looks like it.” Varric said, gesturing at the idol. “But Squiggles says it’s--”

“Valuable,” his brother said, gaze locked on the object.  
  
“I was going with ‘creepy and evil’ but sure…” Varric rubbed the back of his neck and stared, knowing that Bartrand wouldn’t listen to a word he said. Great.

Unconcerned, Bartrand picked up the figurine--was it  _ humming _ ?--and turned back down the stairs. “I’ll take this back.” 

“Sure, we’ll just keep wandering around until we find something else you can claim,” Carver said, scowling at the dwarf’s retreating back.

“We’re splitting it all three ways anyway,” Garrett said. “Stop being so dramatic. The casting director isn’t scouting in the creepy lost thaig.” 

“No. We’re not.” Bartrand’s voice echoes oddly in the chamber.

“Huh?” 

But even as they looked at Bartrand, the door to the room slammed shut. Varric and Hawke rushed down the stairs, calling to Bartrand about the ‘mistake.’ 

At the top of the stairs, Fiona put her hands on her hips and affected a mocking voice, “No, Fiona, that’s dumb, we don’t have to carry our food and water in there. We can just go out and get more from the carts. Why do you want to carry so much?”

“Okay, well, I didn’t expect doors to start shutting behind us automatically,” Carver said, even as he reached back to reassure himself that the pack was still heavy on his back.

“Goodness Fiona, that was a terribly lucky guess,” Merrill said, reaching for her waterskin.

Anders eyed her suspiciously, “Yeah, guess.”

On the opposite side of the door, Bartrand started bragging about leaving them behind to avoid splitting the findings--or the idol. Varric and Garrett shouted back through it, but it was no use. The dwarf’s retreating steps eventually faded into total silence. 

“Well… shit.” 

 

\---

 

Compared to the beginning of the expedition, which was marked by Carver’s complaints and Fiona’s insistence than  _ doom _ was imminent, trying to  _ leave _ the Deep Roads involved Merrill and Fiona being disgustingly chipper and excited over the strangest things. After five days of wading through darkspawn and finding the occasional relic, they reached a familiar part of the Deep Roads. “This is where we entered. If we push, we can make it to the surface before we need to make camp again.”

“Actually… Do you think we can… rest?” Carver said, swaying on his feet. 

“No,” Fiona insisted, slipping under Carver’s arm to help support him. “Your infection is getting worse. We need to get out of here.”

“Fiona, it’s not an infection,” Anders said, his tone sober enough to make even Merrill’s face pale.

“What are you talking about?” Garrett asked.

“It’s-”

Before Anders could finish, Carver passed out, only remaining upright because of Fiona.

“Carver!” Garrett sprinted to his brother’s side and gently helped Fiona lay him on the ground.

Fiona pointed toward the exit and ordered, “Go out. He needs fresh water. I’ll sta-”

“Fresh water can’t cure the Blight, Fiona!” Anders shouted, his voice echoing in the cavern. Everyone else stared at him while Fiona frowned down at Carver. “There is no cure for the Blight. I wouldn’t have let him get this ill if I could have helped it.”

Garrett knelt next to his brother, who was rousing. He looked pleadingly up at Anders. “There must be something we can do.”

Anders stared into Garrett’s eyes for a moment before looking away and pulling at his ponytail. “There might be a way. I took the maps from a group of Wardens I found in Kirkwall. I thought they were after me, but they were planning their own trip into the deep roads. If we can find them-”

“No.” Fiona said, voice hard and commanding and  _ imperious _ in just a single word.

“You don’t get to say-”

“Shut up,” Fiona spat, now glowing with a white aura. She stood and pulled Garrett to his feet. “You, Varric, Merrill: set up camp and keep your mouths shut.” She jabbed her finger at Anders, who actually fell back a step, knocked by the physical force of… pointing. “You, strip him and lay him out flat and then find whatever lyrium potions we have left and drink them.”

“What are you- You can’t cure the Blight!”

“ _ You _ can’t.  _ I _ can.” As she said the words, the glowing around Fiona intensified until she was painful to look at.

Though his words were slurred, Carver clearly said, “I knew you were a mage.” His eyes aren’t focused on anything and he’s pale as death in the white light of her magic.

Fiona snapped her fingers and Carver’s jaw clicked shut. That set everyone else into motion, following her instructions, though Anders insisted the entire time that it was impossible. 

“Shit, Squiggles, what are you?” Varric asked, even as he began spreading out the bedrolls.

Once Carver was laid out (protesting about being naked) Fiona knelt down and held both hands over his chest. Her glow had subsided into a soft light and began to spread from her to envelop Carver as well. With her eyes shut, she instructed, “Anders, once I lift my right hand, he’s going to be covered in small flesh wounds. Make sure he doesn’t bleed out.”

“Are you going to rip-” Garrett tried to speak, but after the first few words, his jaw clicked shut of its own accord and he stood visibly struggling with it for a minute.

Fiona was silent and seemingly in a trance for an hour before she said, voice barely above a whisper. “...be ready…” In the next breath, the glowing transformed from a soft white to violent purple as she jerked her right hand away. Carver’s body jerked off the ground with a gasp and he immediately started leaking small amounts of blood from everywhere at once. An amorphous black, writhing mass hovered just near Fiona’s hand before she whipped her wrist and it flew away to splat against the stone some ways away from them.

She didn’t pay Anders any heed, just shakily rose to her feet before staggering towards the camp, not making it, and passing out on Varric. Her body rested limply over his shoulder, her fingers brushing the cracked stone.  
  
“Did she just… pull the Blight out of him?” Garrett asked, staring between Fiona and Carver with his mouth open. 

“That’s… impossible,” Varric said, struggling to set the much heavier human woman down gently and only partially succeeding as her head thunked against the ground. “I mean, I guess with magic…”  
  
“No magic  _ I’ve  _ ever heard of can do that.”   
  
“It wasn’t magic,” Anders said, his own hands glowing as he tended to Carver’s wounds with healing spells. “You felt it, Hawke, Merrill. Did it feel like she was pulling at the Fade? When she affected us, or when she was working on Carver?” 

“... No.” Garrett rubbed his arms and walked over to the pile of black sludge that had come out of his brother. He pointed his staff blade at it and a blast of fire reduced it to ash.

“Perhaps she was being very… quiet?” Merrill’s voice wavered with doubt. 

“I don’t think so. Between this and the way templar abilities didn’t work on her… If she’s using magic, it’s no magic Thedas has ever seen.” 

“She might be Tevinter,” Carver said, voice weak. “Blood magic-”

“Blood magic isn’t  _ that  _ different.” 

“She saved Junior. Whatever she did… whatever she  _ is _ , it can’t be all bad, right?” Varric asked, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. He draped a blanket over her, but immediately hopped a few steps back, as if she were a wild animal that might wake and attack.

“Whatever she is, we’d be wise to keep her on our side,” Anders said grimly. “There’s no telling what she can do.” 

 

\--- 

 

Fiona woke a few hours later, groaning and barely strong enough to sit up. She fumbled for her water skin. When her eyes could focus, she noticed Varric aiming Bianca at her heart. She narrowed her eyes at him, but put most of her attention on trying to get a drink. Eventually, Garrett took pity on her and both opened it and tilted it back for her to take a drink.

“So, Squiggles, just what are you?”

She swallowed and her entire body shuddered. “I’m a human. Moreso than Anders, that’s for certain.”

“I don’t think ‘not an abomination’ is a very high bar.”

“I saved  _ your _ brother.” She coughed and clutched her chest, panting. “Look, where I’m from, this is the only magic there is. You people with your spirits and possession and Fade are the weird ones.”

Varric lowed his crossbow. “Why keep it secret, then?”

“Are you kidding? Yes, I’ll just volunteer myself for one of the more persecuted classes. When I got here, all I knew was that mages were anathema. After following this dunderhead around on his adventures for the last two years, I learned about the Circles. It’s literally impossible for me to pass their bullshit ‘Harrowing’ which means I’d automatically be made Tranquil. Maybe I don’t have a connection to the Fade, but I’m not going to bet my sanity against their barbaric rituals.”

Garrett handed her some stale bread and put a hand on her back to help her stay up. “You’ve got a good point there. Are you going to be alright? Carver was right as rain after Anders patched him up. It’d hardly be fair if  _ you’re _ dying now.”

She chewed the bread slowly. “It’s just magical exhaustion. I haven’t needed to use it like  _ that _ for a long time.”

“If you could cure it, why didn’t you do it earlier, before it spread?” Anders said, apparently awakened by the conversation.

“I thought it was just an infection,” she said around the bread. “It presents the same way: fever, weakness, discolouration around the wound, funny smell, same feeling under magic.”

“If it was just an infection, don’t you think I would have cured it?”

“Maybe you left it out of spite because of his whining.”

All three of them looked at her as if she were crazy before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, which woke the others. They kept barraging her with questions (“Do you always glow when you use magic?”), but the answers didn’t reveal much (“I used magic every time I fight, do you see me glowing then? No? There you go.”). As far as Fiona was concerned,  _ she _ was a proper mage and everyone else was strange, and so had no real answers.

“Lord is the title we give to mages and we’re more important than the political, landed lords. Which I am also one of. Look, I  _ really _ don’t know anything else. I was military, not… magic theory or academics. I use magic and the spell happens, that’s all I ever needed to know. I have my specialty, but the things that apply to that don’t apply to anything else.”

Despite her protests, Anders and Varric continued to barrage her with questions as they slowly made their way out to the surface with Fiona half-carried between Carver and Garrett.

 

\---

 

“She can  _ cure the taint _ ?” Leliana asked, her voice raising at least two octaves.

“No, she  _ can’t _ and that’s exactly why she’s not mentioned. She can remove the Blight, but once someone becomes a Warden, they’re stuck a Warden. She and Blondie spent months trying to remove the taint with no success.” Varric tapped his fingers on the table. “Squiggles is gonna kill me for this.”

“We  _ have _ to keep trying. Once I tell the Hero of-”

“There are two possible outcomes if you try. One, she disappears forever and we’re shit out of luck for help with this Breach or,  _ two, _ well, let’s not talk about two. I’m only telling you this so you can trust her. If you break  _ her _ trust, we’re all going to be worse off.”

Cassandra pressed her lips together and sat straighter in her chair. “The woman is still an apostate.”

“Every mage is an apostate now and Squiggles isn’t a demon risk because  _ she has no connection to the Fade _ . Do you wanna hear the rest of the story, or are you just going to crucify her like you did Hawke?”

“We’re sorry, Varric. Please continue.”

 

\---

 

Leandra was hysterical when they finally returned. She made all three of them sleep on the floor in the master bedroom so she could watch and make sure they were real. It took until mid-afternoon on the second day for Fiona to convince her that they  _ really  _ needed supplies from the market now that there were four people in the house again.

Fiona sighed in relief once the door clicked shut behind her and set out with light steps. She wore a second set of armor she’d commissioned expressly for use after the expedition while her first one was repaired. Without needing to worry about darkspawn or unstable floors, she nearly skipped, but she didn’t even make it out of their neighborhood before someone grabbed her wrist.

 

\---

 

“Oh no! But she just escaped!” Cassandra gasped, her ire about Fiona being a mage clearly forgotten.

“...”

“Well? What happened?”

 

\---

 

Fiona spun, but didn’t draw her sword. She had a breath to recognize Sebastian before he pulled her into a crushing embrace. There was a quiet clink of metal on metal as she grasped him in return, the fastenings on her armor knocking against the plates on his.

“Oh, Fiona, you’re alive. When the dwarf returned alone, I…” He drew back and put his hands on her cheeks, staring at her face as if he’d never see her again. Words failed him as he checked every inch of her face for some sign of illness or injury.

The weight of his expression struck her like a physical blow. She grasped through her mind for how to respond, but her magic gave her a taste of his emotions. Eventually, she spit out the only sentence that came out whole. “I’m very good at staying alive.”

Sebastian started to laugh, but gave it up in an instant, slipping one hand behind her head and the other around her waist as he tipped her back for a kiss.

 

\---

 

Cassandra’s girlish squeal resulted in a disgusted look from Varric.

“Alright, fine. I’ll skip that part.”

“No, no, I’ll be quiet.”

Leliana chuckled quietly.

 

\---

 

Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck, but the moment was ruined when someone knocked into the couple. She pulled away, breathing heavy. “I… Hello…” Laughter stumbled out of her mouth before she could control it and she felt a depth of inability to speak she’d never felt before. Nevermind that she’d been a ranking officer in the Imperial Navy before coming to Southern Thedas. Nevermind that she’d dueled mages twice her age to the death without breaking a sweat. (Nevermind her many sexual conquests.)

She grabbed his hands. “What are you doing here? Tell me you haven’t just been walking here every day hoping we’d come back.”

“No, I was coming to bring Leandra to the Chantry, but then I saw you and…” He blushed and brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

“She wouldn’t go today anyway. She’s still yelling at them for worrying her.” Fiona looked down, her own blush nearly as red as her tattoos.

“Then I find myself with the afternoon free.” After tilting her chin up, he brushed his lips against hers again. “Where were you going?”

“Just the market. We ate everything in the house this morning.” She took his offered arm and let him escort her. They looked quite the pair, her with brilliant red hair and dark leather armor and him in his regal, white partial plate.

“What happened in the Deep Roads?” He put his hand over hers and kept turning to smile at her, a bright, open expression.

“Too much. No one listened to me and Bartrand sealed us in the thaig. We found plenty to sell on the way out, but we were lucky our supplies lasted.” She shivered at the memory. 

Sebastian stopped and looked at her with horror plain on his face. “You knew you’d be sealed in? And you still went?”

“It’s not that simple.” She broke eye contact and turned back to the street, unwilling to talk about it just yet. “I’m... complaining. Honestly, once he left, I felt much better about the entire thing. I’ll give you the details later, but right now, please, I’d rather just enjoy being  _ out _ .”

“Of course,” he said, though the fear didn’t quite leave his eyes.

“How were things here, while I was away?”

“Far less exciting, but…” Sebastian explained the comings and goings of Kirkwall. Mostly the issues that came to the Chantry, but he had a smattering of stories from various nobles he’d been approaching for aid. They made the trip through the market quickly, as Fiona insisted Leandra would worry if she was gone too long.

Sebastian helped her carry the purchases into the house, which was surprisingly empty. Fiona picked up a scrap of paper off the table and frowned at it.

“Is something wrong?”

Fiona handed him the paper, which he flipped around before quickly reading the single line. “Oh, Garrett and Carver took her to the Chantry. Why were you frowning? Is something going to happen?”

“I can’t read.”

Sebastian laughed and dropped the paper before turning away to finish moving the sack of flour. When Fiona neither joined in nor said anything, he turned back and his expression turned into one of embarrassment. “You’re serious.”

“I can read  _ five _ other languages. I just never bothered with this one.” Her voice was tinged with exasperation.

Sebastian opened and closed his mouth a few times, speechless. Eventually, he settled on, “Five?”

“Yes.” She listed three off then, “And two more I can’t speak. One we had to learn at the Academy, and the other… Well, human throats can’t speak it properly anyway.”

“But you have all of those investments through the Merchant’s Guild!”

Fiona sighed and sat at the table, gesturing for Sebastian to do the same. She took several slow breaths, calming herself for the conversation. “I write my ledgers in my native language, but… Remember how I  _ notice _ things? I also know when someone is lying to me. I know the contract is what they say it is because  _ they _ know the contract is what they say it is.”

Sebastian frowned, picking up from her body language that there was more to this. “But you can’t always be right. You wouldn’t risk your coin on something you weren’t sure of. Someone else might, but  _ you... _ ”

“I… I’m not a mage. That’s just the closest word in this language. You’ve seen templars use their abilities on me: there’s no affect because they only work on… normal magic. It’s hard to explain. Where I’m from, magic is completely different. There are no spirits or demons or talk of the Fade at all.” She ran her hand over her braid, tugging at the end in an anxious motion.

He stared at his hands, trying to take it all in. “No wonder you don’t believe in the Maker.”

Fiona laughed, but it had a hysterical edge. “That’s… not why. The Maker may very well exist, just not in the Fade. Humans are fallible, we can’t expect to know where the Maker resides. My… magic has nothing to do with my faith.”

He met her eyes. “Are you… Not dangerous, then?”

Fiona removed her gloves as she considered how to answer that. “Magic, as I use it, is no more dangerous than a sword. A child swinging it around can cause damage and a soldier who strikes without thought could murder a friend, but it won’t be able to move on its own and hurt me or someone else. I can only be a danger through my own decisions.” She wiggled her fingers and the paper floated around them.

Sebastian looked away and stood. “I should return to the Chantry. Elthina said she had some tasks for me.”

 

\---

 

A week later, Leandra was willing to let her sons out of her sight and let Fiona escort her to the Chantry. As she had before the expedition, Fiona perused the artworks as if they were new. She smiled when Sebastian approached, but turned back to the framed piece of fresco. “Leandra’s finally relaxed a little. I had to talk her out of formally adopting me. She doesn’t want to let me go.”

“I can’t imagine that conversation.” He paused. “I just… wanted to apologize.”

“Don’t apologize.” She turned to him and raised her hand, covering his mouth when he tried to protest. “You’re a ruling noble with a disputed title. It’s your  _ duty _ to take the time to think before you act.” Fiona stared into his blue eyes and then lowered her hand. “And there is a lot about me to consider. A lot that could cause problems.”

“You’re right,” he said, voice low. “I’m heartened that you see it that way. It reassures me. I was wondering if you… Wanted to learn how to read. And otherwise spend time with me outside of the Chantry.”

 

\---

 

“Aww…”

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Varric grumbled and took a drink from his pint and spent a moment gathering his thoughts. “It took us a while to sell off everything from the expedition. Bartrand, obviously, left Kirkwall almost as soon as he got back, guess he knew I was coming. Anyway, you know Hawke managed to buy back the Amell estate and most of the family’s assets.

“Squiggles seemed to actually have progress on her elevation plan, too. Though she didn’t have a title, she was invited along with Hawke and Choir Boy to all of the high society parties. And before you get your panties in a twist, they weren’t officially courting, since she didn’t have a title, but everyone knew which way the wind was blowing.  
  
“Tensions with the Qunari were mounting, but that was one mess Squiggles did her best to stay out of. It sort of worked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my last moment check for errors, I realized that I outright stated which IP Squiggles is from. Tsk, tsk, that can't be.
> 
> Further, I am calling the Warden condition "tainted" and the normal condition "Blighted" as it makes it easier to define what Fiona can and cannot cure. More explanation will come later, but it will not be as comprehensive as it is in her mind because of limitations of knowledge/words/technology in Thedas.


	5. Wanting Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts are delved and desires explored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Fade section.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Fiona. You can’t promise that Justice will remain intact after the separation. He  _ trusted _ me when we entered this arrangement. Go sit in your ivory tower with Sebastian.” Anders said, nearly shouting across the study in the restored Amell estate.

Fiona sat calmly, plaiting her long red hair. “It is not  _ justice _ to hold you to an agreement you made ignorant of the true ramifications.”

“I  _ want _ to maintain-”

“What you  _ want _ needs to come secondary to what’s  _ right _ .” She tied off the braid and tossed it over her shoulder. “When the spirit of Justice overtakes your will, it is because you are acting against its purpose.”

“So you’re an expert on spirits, now, too? Why don’t we just put you in charge of the city and you’ll just have the solution to everything!”

Garrett sighed and rubbed his temples. Fiona and Anders usually avoided each other, but now that they both lived in the manor, the arguments were inevitable.

Fiona gritted her teeth and then said, “I spent my entire life before coming here fighting possession. Not by a spirit, by another human who wanted a strong new body to inhabit. If my control had slipped even once the way yours does every time someone even speaks the word ‘templar’ I would have been lost. You are losing grip and soon there will be no Anders left.”

“There you go, assuming you know everything! How many times do I have to tell you? That’s already happened. From the moment I accepted the spirit into my body we’ve been one. There’s no way to know where one ends and the other begins because there is only-”

“I can  _ see _ it.” She stood up and started gesturing. “I look at you, I see your form and behind it, there is a bright blue ghost. Yes, there is mutual influence, yes, the split wouldn’t be perfect, but you wouldn’t lose control anymore. You said it yourself, joining with you  _ corrupted _ Justice. It cannot return to its previous state while bound to you.”

“Even if you’re right, I’m not going to risk destroying Justice because I  _ might _ be better without him.”

Fiona threw up her hands and stalked out of the study, her strange magic crackling around her.

Anders sighed and slumped next to Garrett on the couch. The new leather creaked under his weight. “Why don’t you stop her when she gets like that?”

Garrett put his arm around Anders’s shoulder. “For the same reason I don’t try to convince you to just let her do it. I don’t know who’s right and I care about you too much to push one way or the other.”

“I don’t  _ want _ her to separate Justice. I have to do  _ something _ for the plight of mages and Justice is helping.”

Garrett stared at his lover for a moment, but eventually said nothing, turning back to the fireplace.

“Don’t be like that, love. Please, just tell me.”

Garrett held him tighter. “Wanting something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

 

\---

 

“I’m sorry. I still haven’t seen her. I’m headed to Starkhaven next week, but…” Fiona trailed off.

“But she didn’t have a Starkhaven accent. I know. You don’t have to apologize. I didn’t expect to find an answer quickly.” Sebastian squeezed her hand. They sat together on one of the benches in the Chantry garden. The sun had yet to set, but it was hidden by the walls.

“At worst, I could… take memories from Goran directly.”

Sebastian made a pained sound. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know. The process would drive him mad and cause even more instability for Starkhaven and you’re not in a position to claim your title yet.” She clenched her free hand into a fist tight enough that her leather glove creaked.

“I have to do what’s best for my people.” 

They sat quietly, enjoying the peace of the inner garden. Though Sebastian had moved out of the Chantry some time ago, he still performed many tasks for the Grand Cleric and prayed often. “You’ll be taking my letters in. Personal delivery and from  _ you _ , they will take my words seriously.”

“I’m no one.”

“Yet. All of the Free Marches knows that you’re to receive whatever title is lost next. Everyone with dubious claims is scrambling to keep hold of their official standing. You make them nervous and they’ve never seen you in combat.”

She grinned at him in the waning light, the expression vicious at the edges. “The Merchant’s Guild has helped. Some people forget that coin itself is not enough. It’s what you do with it.”

“You’ve used yours to make contacts among those the nobility relies upon. I’m glad to have you at my side.” He released her hand to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear. “Speaking of your contacts, Merrill mentioned that you made yourself a friend to the Dalish.”

“Oh,  _ that _ .” Fiona patted herself down and then slipped a single gold coin out of her armor. She spun it between her fingers, a trick learned from Isabela, before holding it out to him.

Sebastian took it, tracing the stamped images with the bare tips of his fingers. “This isn’t Marcher coinage. Or Nevarran, Ferelden… Certainly not Tevinter.”

“The Dalish like me, remember?”

“Yes, but the Dalish don’t have… Surely this isn’t from the ancient elven empire?” He stared at the coin with wonder, the runes now seeming decidedly elvish and the image reminiscent of the ruins throughout Thedas.

“Elvhenan coinage, indeed. My sword usually assuages doubts. I’ve had two Keepers summon spirits right then to confirm. After that, word spread that I have the real thing.”

“It’s still a marvel that you have such things.”

“The temple was built specifically to be a safe house when my homeland became too dangerous, as it’s wont to do. Of course it would have weapons and money. I suspect that my ancestors simply didn’t anticipate how long it would lay unused.” She laughed. “You would have enjoyed my confusion when I arrived, speaking the language of the ancient elves only to be declared mad and speaking in tongues.”

Sebastian laughed. “Any time you’re less than completely composed it is a sight to see.”

“Hush. One day I’ll show you the temple and you can be a slack-jawed yokel gasping at the wonder.”

“I’ll be delighted to see it. I just wish I could see your reaction to Starkhaven.”

She patted his cheek, kissed him lightly and stood. “I need to get back.”

Sebastian stood, tall and proud and offered his arm, only to receive a laugh. 

“It’s just a few blocks now.”

“Please, let me.”

Grinning like foolish young lovers, they walked through the Chantry and out onto Hightown’s broad streets. Night had fully taken over Kirkwall, but they walked without fear. At least for the first street. As they crossed the empty intersection, Fiona squeezed Sebastian’s arm and her expression turned from genuine to pasted on. 

“Attack coming. Two streets ahead on the right.” She didn’t release his arm, but her grip loosened to the point he could easily reach for his bow. Her left hand lingered near the hilt of her sword and she could feel the gentle hum of magic as the enchantments began activating.

An arrow whizzed through the air, but missed as Sebastian sidestepped. Fiona dashed ahead, her magic lengthening her strides and quickening her pace. She drew the short sword and slashed across the first man’s chest in a single motion. The enemy archer was on his knees, scrabbling at the blue-fletched arrows in his chest.

The last attacker was a mage with a double-bladed staff held in front of him with both hands. He was dark of skin and hair and he crackled with a lightning spell that he released a mere foot away from Fiona’s chest. Her sword glowed softly white with the runes burning light across the blade as she cut through the magic.

The mage fumbled his staff and jabbered in some foreign language as his magic was countered. His voice rose to a fever pitch as he pulled at the Fade a second time, but Fiona held out her empty left hand, fingers spread wide and let her magic freeze the mage in place. She held that stance, her sword dimming, while Sebastian caught up.

“Magebane?”

Fiona nodded silently, the lion’s share of her concentration reserved for sustaining her magic.

With quick motions, Sebastian nicked the bare skin of the mage’s forearm and rubbed the poison sponge he usually used to coat his arrows. 

The otherwise paralyzed mage continued screaming in his language until Fiona cancelled the spell and said “Sleep” with magic behind it. Neither bothered to catch him as he slumped to the bloody cobblestones. Fiona switched her bloody sword to her left hand and removed her right glove. With her bare hand glowing purple, she approached.

“I’ll delay the guard,” Sebastian said.

Fiona pressed her magic into the man’s head and  _ pulled _ for the memories she wanted. The unconscious mage’s connection to Fade resisted her magic, but she tore through it, uncaring about the damage it would leave behind. She rose from the prone form, magic extinguished, just as Sebastian rounded the corner with the local patrol.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“Yes, Guardsman… Donnic? What are you doing on Hightown Patrol?” Fiona asked as she recognized the man. She replaced her glove and pulled out a rag to clean the blood off her sword.

He grimaced. “Not sure. I must’ve displeased the captain somehow, but I can’t think of anything.” He looked at the bodies. “What happened here?”

“No idea. They ambushed us. A mage, too. The Knight-Commander will want to know. We left him alive.” She moved to stand next to Sebastian, affecting a frightened countenance.

“We’ll get this cleaned up. The captain may have some questions for you, but even if not, I’m sure she’ll let you know if there’s anything behind this other than a few stupid cut-throats.”

“I’ll see her home for the evening. Thank you, Guardsmen.” Sebastian’s voice held the easy dismissal of nobility and he guided her away without a second glance. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “That was no random attack.”

“No. Tevinters. They were given a suspiciously good description of me. Except for the sword. Everyone thinks it’s ornamental.”

“A mistake our enemies never make twice.”

 

\---

 

“How did you get them outside?” Garrett asked Fiona conversationally. They stood just outside the garden door to the Amell manor. Fiona had her hair down, a rare enough sight, but the vision in front of them was even more so.

Sebastian stood regal and straight in the center of the garden, finely manicured topiaries on either side of him. Anders prowled around him like an angry cat, not in the least mindful of the delicate flowers he trampled. Magic crackled around him, but Sebastian barely spared him a glance.

“I told Sebastian I wanted breakfast outside to enjoy the early morning sun. Then I just made myself scarce when Anders tromped down the stairs in a rage.” Fiona replied, tone equally bland.

“You are the most self-serving, hypocritical, sanctimonious-” Anders shouted, face red, but thankfully not cracking with blue light.

Garrett rubbed his beard. “He  _ has  _ been looking for a fight lately. I have to admit, though, I  _ like _ the way he tromps.”

“I am doing what I must for the people of Starkhaven,” Sebastian replied, tone even, if somewhat tired.

“And it’s best for the people of Starkhaven that you dally around with a maleficar? That you abandon your vows to the Chantry that stands by and does nothing, but jail mages?” Anders waved his arms, trying to get his point across.

“A maleficar? I’m almost offended,” Fiona said.

“Are you  _ even _ dallying? What with his being a Chantry Brother?” Garrett raised an eyebrow.

“Former. And he got rid of that face of Andraste belt-buckle. What do you think?”

“Fiona is a former military officer who will minimize loss of life if we cannot take the city peacefully.” Sebastian met Anders’s gaze without flinching. “Further, I made my vows to the Maker without knowing what would happen to my family and our people. I would be a poor servant to the Maker if I could never change my path in response to external circumstances.”

“A servant that uses the weakest excuse to embrace his vices. You only even joined the Chantry to feel superior and have power over others, over mages!” Anders shouted.

Fiona tilted her head to the side. “That was almost nonsensical. Is he… quite alright?”

Garrett shook his head, worry creasing his forehead. “He’s been getting worse since we killed Ser Alrik and his cronies. I tried to suggest that he take your offer, but he’s crumbling. He needs me to support him.”

“I understand. If- if he gets much worse, I will do it without his consent.”

“Anders, the Starkhaven Circle burned to the ground years ago. A majority of the templars have been transferred away. Goran is too simple to rebuild anything, let alone help the Chantry establish a Circle that will be the place of learning and protection that it should be.”

“Are you trying to  _ pander _ to me?”

“I am trying to do what is right. Despite your obvious antagonism towards me, I  _ do _ listen to what you say. I have seen the injustices mages face in Southern Thedas. I  _ saw _ how the mages  _ from my city _ turned to blood magic out of desperation. I would do what I can to prevent that.”

“You insufferable, arrogant-”

“Anders, that’s enough,” Garrett said, stepping out into the garden proper. “Didn’t you say that Miss Amelie was coming to the clinic this morning to see about her baby?” He took Anders’s arm and gently pulled him to the door. He exchanged a worried look with Fiona before taking him down to the passage in the cellar.

  
  


\---

 

“Garrett, we  _ cannot _ do this,” Sebastian insisted, thankfully out of earshot of Arianni. The sick light that filtered into the alienage gave his armor a corrupted, green sheen. “When Tevinter went in search of the Golden City-”

“We’re not going  _ physically _ into the Fade and I didn’t ask you to help, regardless.” Garrett rubbed his temples. “I’m not going to let the boy be made Tranquil when I can help him. It may come to that, but no one deserves to…” He struggled over the word, since being Tranquil was hardly living. “Be like that.”

“Please, Fiona, explain to… him…” Sebastian trailed off when he saw Fiona’s expression.

“ _ This _ is my specialty, Sebastian. Not physical combat. We didn’t save Feynriel from slavery just to have him lose his soul. I am  _ obligated _ to use my abilities to help others. You saw Wilmod, a  _ templar _ possessed and made into an abomination. If the demons want Feynriel’s body so much, can you guarantee they won’t force their possession past his Tranquility?”

Sebastian said nothing, just stood there, looking at her pleadingly.

Fiona shook her head and turned with Garrett back to the Dalish Keeper. Marethari lead them into Feynriel’s childhood home and Fiona knelt in her meditation posture between the seated Anders and Merrill. Hawke took a seat opposite her next to Carver, who was visibly sweating.

Marethari approached the glowing crystal in the center of them. “If we’re ready to be-”

The door slammed open and Fiona closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t have to beg or incapacitate Sebastian to keep him from interfering. However, her fears were for nothing as he silently sat behind her, only reaching out to grasp her hand.

The Keeper began speaking the words of the ritual and Fiona looked back at Sebastian to see the fear and apprehension in his eyes. She squeezed his hand and let the magic wash over her.

 

\---

 

Fiona opened her eyes and looked down over a great throne room. She stood from the silver throne and her black and red silk robes flowed with her movements. Her bare arms were covered with sharp red lines - extensions of the tattoos on her face. Robed mages of every color and shape knelt before her and her body crackled with seemingly unlimited magical power. 

Behind her throne, there were no walls, just impossibly clear windows showing an inky black sky with stars unfamiliar to Southern Thedas. With a cruel smile on her face, she descended the carpeted steps at the base of the throne. As she passed them, each mage murmured, “Your majesty” and pressed their face further into the floor.

A scuttling, cowering servant approached her from the side. All of his visible skin was marred with spiderwebs of sharp scar lines. “Empress, the Council is awaiting orders.”

“Of course.” She snapped her fingers and the compulsion fell off her companions. Somewhat stiffly, the servant transformed into Garrett and straightened. She gestured around the throne room. “I wonder what the limitations on the… technique are. The Imperial Throne looks nothing like this. Pretty robes, though. Perhaps images are bound by Feynriel’s imagination.”

“This is supposed to be your homeland? You were being tempted?” Garrett asked, looking around at the ghost-like forms of their friends, now standing.

“Not very well.” She snapped her fingers again and the throne room dissolved, taking the rest of the “mages” with it. With light steps, she walked across the misty green “ground” of the Fade and put her arm around Sebastian, who looked shell-shocked. She touched his face and murmured comforting words.

An electric blue spirit walked towards them from nowhere. “You diminished the first desire demon to the point that it has retreated.” It extended its arms, as if taking in all of the sensations of the Fade. “I had not thought to return in such a way.”

“Justice?”

“We have no time to waste on questions. Feynriel’s mind is straining.” The spirit walked through Garrett, who shivered.

“Sebastian, look at me.” Fiona held his face with both hands, trying to blot out his vision of the Fade. “I can get you out of here.”

“No,” he croaked. “You’re right, we need to do all we can.”

She released his face and gently pulled him forward where the green nothing dissolved into a courtyard. Garrett was arguing with a demon while Carver appeared to be psyching himself up for whatever was to come.

“It is wisdom not to deal with demons. There are still many that press against Feynriel’s mind. Pride, Envy, Desire… We must both bolster the boy’s mind and drive them away.” Justice said, his voice not a sound in their ears, but a booming presence in their minds.

“Where’s Anders? We could use his help.” Garrett said, eyeing the spirit.

“It is I who is present in the Fade.”

Garrett frowned at that, but turned away from Justice to look around the courtyard. 

“I can feel a lot of demons here. I hope they’re friendly.” Merrill said, eyes wide with wonder.

“Well with names like Desire, Pride and Envy, I’m sure they’re all just sunshine and rainbows,” Carver snarled. He kept rubbing his arms, as if warmth would force the arcane chill to disappear.

Magic began pulling each member of the group apart, even as they struggled to huddle together for support.

“They’re using Feynriel’s power,” Fiona said, her voice calm and even. She and Justice were the only two to show no signs of discomfort. “Through his abilities as a Dreamer, you will be shown a life created by indulgence in the demon’s power. You must deny them. If I am correct, Garrett will be able to assist, but it is you who must deny the vision.”

“And if we can’t resist?” Carver asked, his voice now at a fevered pitch.

“Have faith.”

 

\---

 

Fiona kept her abilities in check as an illusion of Feynriel and his father formed around her. She could break the image, as she had for herself, but the boy had to master his power in order to live. Garrett could help him, at least, so the Dalish Keeper had believed. She watched the vision and felt the energies shift as Garrett pointed out the inconsistency in the illusion.

As the vision faded, she felt Feynriel’s power grow and contented herself to let Garrett deal with them.

The green mist reformed quickly into a specter of the Viscount’s Keep in Kirkwall. Carver stood next to Viscount Dumar, gesturing to a paper and speaking. “...And once you push this through the Council, Meredith will have to cede control to the Guard.”

“Of course, Hawke. This is just the solution I’ve been looking for.”

Garrett approached, though his form was overlaid with the seneschal. “You know Dumar’s only interested in placating Meredith, Carver. You’re smarter than this.”

“I  _ am _ ,” Carver said with unexpected confidence. “And I’ll get respect through my own merit.”

Another shift and Feynriel appeared again, this time speaking with the Dalish Keeper. Again, gentle prodding from Garrett before the swishing rush of renewed power from Feynriel.

The next transition left them in an enormous library tower. The architecture was elven and magical devices glittered and spun next to flameless torches. Merrill sat dwarfed by a giant masterwork of a carved desk. Another elf stood at her shoulder. “The Keepers are gathered for Arlathven; they’re waiting to hear about the eluvians.”

“Oh, yes, I know, but my research isn’t quite complete.”

“They’ll trust what you tell them,  _ hah’ren _ . You are the best of us.”

Merrill lit up and sparkled with magic. “That’s right.”

Garrett appeared at her other shoulder, though in the form of an elf. “Isn’t the truth more important?”

The sparkles winked out one by one. “It is. I suppose this is a demon’s work. I didn’t expect it to be so pretty.” She lifted her hand to one of the magical devices, concentric spinning rings of every color. “I think I’ll have to make one of these.”

An unfamiliar throneroom filtered in. It was decked out in white and blue heraldry, though it had the same square architecture of Kirkwall. When Sebastian appeared on the throne, Fiona extended her power to Garrett. “Don’t interfere. He needs this.”

The mage materialized next to her, though they were both invisible to anything in the vision. The scene at the throne had frozen. “And if he gives in?”

“Then the weight of it lays on his shoulders. He needs to believe in himself if he’s to bring peace to Starkhaven.” Fiona looked away from the vision to meet Garrett’s eyes. “If he’s possessed, I will deal with it myself.”

He clapped her on the shoulder and disappeared, the vision resuming. 

The high windows let in golden sunlight that shined on Sebastian’s noble features. He sat with a comfortable, yet regal posture, seemingly lost in thought until his seneschal approached. The man bowed low. “Your Highness, we just received word from Ostwick: they’re in support. It’s finally time for there to be a  _ king _ in Starkhaven again.”

Sebastian stood then, hand raised and words of agreement on his lips, but he paused. “What of the people?”

“They are pleased to have a united Free Marches once again. No longer will we suffer under the pressure of Orlais.”

“It is the kings of Thedas that must recreate His worldly glory,” Sebastian said, his words filled with wonder.

Fiona’s heart ached, but she wouldn’t interfere. If he was to fail, better that it happen now than when he truly sat as Prince.

“Indeed, Your Majesty. For when shall I schedule the coronation?”

“...No.”

“No?”

“No!” Sebastian clutched at his head. “This is wrong. I don’t want this. I’m not that man anymore.”

Relief washed over Fiona as the vision faded. When the courtyard reformed and everyone stood present, she rushed to Sebastian. “Are you well?”

“I will be,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and pressed his face into her hair.

She stood there with him as Garrett and the others fought the demon from before (sloth?) until it dissolved. Feynriel appeared then and Fiona had to push away from Sebastian.

The boy was thanking Garrett, thanking them all. He was so confident in his abilities.

“This is not enough, apprentice.” Fiona said in her native language, though through the Fade everyone understood her meaning. “You have learned but the bare minimum to protect your own mind. Without training, your magic will murder others, destroy any works of magic, all without your intent. It will thrash, loud and wild, causing the damage of a demon without even the reward of completion. As you are, you must never express your power for risk of damage.”

“What- what are you saying?”

Garrett reached for her arm, to pull her back or stop her, but his hand passed through her and his words were silenced. 

“You have only just begun to walk in Dreams. I can teach you.”

“Are you a Dreamer?”

“Yes, but this will be my only chance to teach you. I cannot access the Fade.”

“How do I know you’re not another demon?”

“You don’t. You watch. You listen. You promise nothing and give nothing. When you wake, you will think. Think and think for days. Question and wonder. Then you will understand how to begin to use your powers.” She waved her hand and Garrett teleported to stand between them. “He was brought here, as one you trust, to protect you from the demons. Garrett, will you let me teach him?”

Garrett’s brow wrinkled in thought and he looked to Justice, who nodded that she spoke true, and finally said. “Yes. Feynrie, do as she said. Watch, but give nothing. Listen, but make no promises.”

“Then let it begin.” She snapped her fingers.

 

\---

 

Fiona’s body remained locked in her meditative pose for hours, glowing softly. None could touch her, save Sebastian, but even he could not move or wake her. Just as dawn’s light crept into the alienage, she opened her eyes with a gasp before immediately falling forward. Sebastian caught her. “Are you alright? And Feynriel?”

Fiona coughed weakly and tried to move her stiff limbs. “If he is careful, he will not cause accidental damage, but the way the Fade distorts the skill is hard to measure. He need always be vigilant.” 

Anders knelt next to her and ran his healing magic over her body.

Fiona looked around, her eyes half-focused. “Where is everyone?”

“In their proper beds. Garrett reassured the Keeper and the boy’s mother that he would be fine,” Sebastian said.

Anders looked up from his work. “This isn’t like the Deep Roads. Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be better if I never interact with the Fade again.”

 

\---

 

Leliana leaned back in her chair and pressed her fingers together. “So she’s not  _ really _ a Dreamer. Because she can’t access the Fade, she was only able to use her abilities there because someone pushed her into it.”

“That’s how she explained it to me, yeah,” Varric said. “You know I don’t understand this magic shit.”

“It’s interesting, but not particularly useful.”

“You’re the one who wanted the  _ whole _ story.”

“I want to know why those Tevinter men wanted her dead.” Cassandra interjected.  
  
“I’ll get to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really sold on Sebastian's refusal to help with Feynriel. Smelled like lazy writing to me.
> 
> Anyway, to clarify, I am working on the assumption that the Fade is isolated to the planet on which Thedas resides. Therefore, it interferes with Squiggles's mental "magic." Imagine that she's a hacker modifying, viewing, copying files and the Fade is a semi-secured intranet. She can brute force the system to extract or view what she wants, but it creates massive internal failures of the system.
> 
> Templar abilities don't affect her "magic" because they reinforce "reality" - interrupting connections to the Fade, which is less real. Her "magic" is already inherently "real," and thus is unchanged. 
> 
> There's a lot more I can go on about in regard to this, but the important parts will be covered in the story itself. I have lots and _lots_ of explanation for everything; it's just not really relevant to the story. Feel free to comment with questions about how the IPs relate or background info or more magical information. If the explanation is neither a spoiler nor covered later in the story, I will give it.
> 
> But seriously, that's not what most of us are here for.


	6. Spiritual Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes people change. Something it's just the work of a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, Anders is _mouthy_ in Awakening. And hearing "Cullen's" voice go on and go about the cat was just so... bizarre.

“Leandra,  _ please _ .” Fiona pleaded as her surrogate-mother whisked around her bedroom. Leandra had settled comfortably into her childhood room once they moved into the Amell estate, leaving the master suite to Garrett.

“I’m not a child, Fiona. And I have two grown sons that are fine with me spending time with someone other than their father. Really, what has gotten into you?” The older woman’s grey hair was neatly styled and where was wearing a new dress with a flattering, Orlesian cut.

“I would love for you to find happiness, Leandra. That’s not the problem. The problem is  _ this specific man _ .” She turned to Garrett for help, but he just grinned at her from his mother’s doorway. He wore a comfortable housecoat over his underarmor.

“You haven’t even  _ met _ him.” She pointed a finger at her son, waggling it in his face. “And you don’t say anything, with how you carry on with that man from Darktown.”

“I wasn’t saying anything, Mother.” Garrett’s pleased grin nearly cut his face in half. He held out a monogrammed, burgundy handkerchief, which his mother took with a still somewhat-suspicious expression.

Fiona gave him a withering look. “Leandra, I don’t like Anders, either.” It was the third time she’d tried to convince Lady Amell from pursuing this particular suitor, but just as the other times, she got nowhere.

“I’m going out and  _ so help me _ if you follow-”

“You know I wouldn’t disrespect you like that.” Fiona caught Leandra’s hands as the older woman tried to leave her bedroom. “Just  _ please _ be careful.”

Leandra patted her on the head and walked off, without a care in the world.

“You could just tell her you’re a mage.”

“Garrett, you know I’m never wrong. Why are  _ you _ not worried?”

Garrett shrugged and pushed off of the doorframe, moving so Fiona could step past. “Mother is stronger than you give her credit for. We’ve been on the run from templars and fighting off bandits with just her since Father died.”

“Between you, Carver and another mage, I don’t think she would have had to do much.”

“Keep that up and I’ll tell Carver you put Isabela up to it.”

“You wouldn’t  _ dare _ . That’s punishing yourself as much as me.”

“But it would be funny.”

“You’re mad.”

 

\---

 

“And here I thought Choir Boy was just exaggerating,” Varric muttered as he yanked another crossbow bolt out of the bodies on the dirty streets of Lowtown. 

Carver punted away a rat that came to sniff at Fiona’s boots as she knelt over the body of a city elf, her hands and eyes glowing brilliantly purple in the darkness. “With all the gold she funnels through you and the Merchant’s Guild, you shouldn’t be surprised people are after her.”

“This isn’t the Merchant’s Guild, Junior.”

Fiona stood. “These ones were Viddathari.” She spit on the corpses. “They don’t know anything about the ‘refugees,’ though. They just want me.”

“Why?”

“That’s a wonderful question no one under the Qun would ever ask.” She angrily wiped down her sword and shoved it back into its sheath. “They definitely want me alive, though. Give me your arm, Carver; I saw you get hit.”

“It’s fine. Barely broke the…” He wobbled and looked about to collapse. When Varric and Fiona both reached to stabilize him, he laughed. “Just kidding, but yeah, here.” He held it out and watched as Fiona’s glow extended into his skin before he felt the poison ripping out of his flesh. “I almost would rather have let it knock me out.”

“If you want to be babied, we can go find Anders.”

“Please no. I see enough of him at the manor.” Carver groaned and pulled his armor back into place over the wound.

“When do you move into the barracks?”

Carver rubbed the back of his neck. “Next week or so? Aveline is making this as difficult as possible.”

“It’s for your own good, kid. The last thing you want is everyone shouting favoritism.”

Carver grumbled under his breath and wiped down his greatsword. “Are we done here? I’m ready to lose more money to Isabela.”

“I’m ready to find out why people are trying to kill me.”

“Look, Squiggles, I’ve got my ear to the ground, but I’ve got nothing so far. Now that the Qunari  _ and _ the ‘Vints are involved I’m curious, too.” Varric scratched his chin as they walked to the Hanged Man. “And you’re sure it has nothing to do with Choir Boy?”

“The ‘Vints that attacked us didn’t recognize him, at least, so it’s unlikely. And the standing orders for both groups is take me alive, kill anyone with me. So it’s not like they’re planning to use me against him.”

“Whatever you do, just don’t tell Mother. She worries enough as it is.”

 

\---

 

“Oh good,” Garrett quipped as the last Tevinter soldier fell to the ground. “After how much Carver was bragging, I was  _ really  _ hoping that I’d be along the next time we all got attacked by crazy Tevinters. Very considerate of you!”

“These aren’t the same Tevinters,” Fenris growled, seizing the one would-be assassin that still lived and pinning him against the rocky cliff-face. 

“Of course not,  _ those  _ are dead.” 

“Hawke… You know what I meant.” The elf gestured between himself and Fiona. “The last ones were here for her. These… were here for me. Danarius’ men.” 

“Does the lyrium give you mind-reading too?”  
  
“No. Unlike you, I paid attention. They attacked us all, but they fought differently with me. Pulling their blows. Making sure not to damage the  _ property _ ,” Fenris said, the bitterness in his voice all too clear.

Garrett looked at Fiona, who nodded her agreement. “Ah, well, the only thing better than one angry magister with a grudge against my friends is  _ two _ \--” 

“Shut up, Hawke.” Fenris was back to glowering at the incapacitated soldier.

“Right. Time to rip someone’s heart out again, then?” 

“No.” The elf’s hand began to glow with the lyrium nonetheless as he raised his fist to the Tevinter’s chest. “Not if he talks.” 

“I… I... “ The terrified hireling stared down at the lyrium hand, clearly knowing what it could do to him. “Please don’t kill me! What do you want to know?” 

“Danarius sent you. Is he here?”

“No! No, he’s back in Seheron. We were commanded by an apprentice. Hardiana.” 

“Where is  _ she _ , then?”

“We… we didn’t want to be noticed. People would talk if a Tevinter company marched into Kirkwall. We camped out on the Wounded Coast. She sent some of us ahead to, uh…” 

“Capture him,” Hawke cut in, gesturing at the corpses. “Didn’t go so well, huh?”

“N-no. I guess not.” The Tevinter swallowed. “Please, let me live. She’s in a cave north of here. I can show--” 

“No.” Fenris snapped the man’s neck.

“Bit excessive. He was surrendering,” Hawke said, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“This is  _ my  _ affair, Hawke. Go back to Kirkwall if you don’t like it.” 

“Pff. I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

Fenris sighed, shaking his head. “Fine, tell your jokes. But we must find this cave and Hadriana soon. Word of her men’s failure will reach her eventually.” 

Hawke nodded. “I think Carver’s patrolling out here. Let’s find him on the way. Could use the extra sword fodder…” 

 

\---

 

“Somehow I think she knows we’re coming.” Even Hawke seemed somber as they paced past the scattered slave corpses, their cuts throat in what had clearly been a blood magic ritual.

“ _ Mages _ ,” Fenris spat. 

“We don’t  _ all  _ grab our knives and start stabbing sacrifices before a fight, Fenris.” 

“No… I know. But she needs to die, Hawke.” 

“Well, no arguments  _ here _ .” 

More signs of what was certainly the ritual dotted the tunnels as the party proceeded. Shambling corpses began to impede their progress as they drew closer to the end.

“All that sacrifice and this is it?” Carver asked, cutting through another body. 

“Well now that you said that, I’m sure there’s something much worse waiting back there with her. Thanks, Carver. You ruined it.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Don’t question me. Now it’s a Pride demon.” 

“Garrett, stop talking,” Fiona said as a Pride demon  _ did _ start stomping towards them.

“Carver started it!”

The Pride demon went down easily, but even as Fenris stepped forward to approach Hadriana, Fiona hung back and waited for Garrett. Whose nose she immediately broke with a solid right hook. “Go whine to Anders later.”

“He does want to see you,” Garrett said, voice wheezing and nasally. They walked up to just behind Fenris and Carver, but it wasn’t a Tevinter apprentice they faced.

The young elven woman pleaded with Fenris, tears in her eyes. “Please don’t hurt her. She’ll be so angry if you hurt her.” Her clothes were threadbare and covered in fraying patches.

Fiona snarled out a string of curses in her native language. When the poor thing asked Fenris if he was her new master, Fiona couldn’t take it anymore and used her magic to put the girl to sleep. She carefully moved the woefully underfed girl’s body against one of the walls and covered her with some blankets. “We’ll get her on the way out. She needs complete retraining.”

“I didn’t realize you’d turned back to your old ways, Kirash,” Fenris said, raising his sword.

“Don’t be stupid. She’s completely unable to function as an independent person. If we thrust freedom on her, she’ll be confused and terrified  _ at best _ . Removing the conditioning will take years. Your memory loss is probably the only thing that left you with the ability to escape.”

“Fight it out later; you two like that.” Garrett said, redirecting their ire at him.

Fenris said nothing else, just lead the charge through a group of armed men, bodyguards, but barely more than farmers handed weapons. When he reached Hadriana, he backhanded her and snapped her staff in half.

The lyrium brands lit near to blinding and Fenris’s right hand turned ethereal as he approached his once-tormenter.

“Don’t! You need me alive! You have a sister! I know where to find her! If you let me live, I’ll tell you.”

“There is nothing you can tell me to win your life,” Fenris said, though he didn’t immediately kill her. “Kirash, hurry up.”

Fiona said nothing, just stripped off her glove as she approached Hadriana, who switched the target of her pleas. Ignoring them, Fiona pressed her bare hand to the skin of Hadriana’s cheek, the magister’s apprentice freezing as if electrocuted. Eventually, the redhead stepped away, eyes blank as she processed the memories.

Fenris wasted no more time and ripped out Hadriana’s heart. Carver shuddered and started on his way back, guessing he’d be in charge of carrying the poor elven girl. Garrett put his hand in the middle of Fiona’s back and started guiding her out.

“Well? What did she know?”

“Give me a minute, there’s a lot of torture to look around.” Fiona said, her voice disturbingly monotone. She didn’t finish sifting through the memories until they reached the mouth of the cave, at which point she started cursing in what sounded like three different languages.

“That good, huh?” Garrett said, voice still modified by his broken nose. 

“I take back what I said about Tevinter being nothing but a babe’s dream compared to my home. It’s actually fairly close.” She looked Fenris in the eye. “By blood you have a sister, but she is a mage. A true Tevinter mage and everything that encompasses.”

Fenris stood stoically, though his lips twitched. “Of course.”

“I’ll give you the details before I rid myself of this filth. But we’re not nearly drunk enough for it now.”

 

\---

 

Anders and Fiona sat alone in the upper study in the Amell estate. A fierce thunderstorm raged outside the windows, rain beating a regular rhythm on the glass.

“When you went into the Fade with Garrett, I wasn’t there. It was  _ only _ Justice. I don’t like being a passenger in my own skin. That I even still feel that way… You must be right. And… I doubted your abilities. Your power in the Fade was… overwhelming. The only reason Justice didn’t fear you is because he knew you wouldn’t attack.” He sat on the very edge of a red velvet chaise, one leg twitching with nerves.

“Being in the Fade amplified my power, I won’t lie. It’s no wonder Dreamers are so powerful with…  _ that _ .” Fiona was slumped in a leather armchair, braiding her damp hair. “Imagine every person as an island. Where I am from, you must…  _ build a bridge _ or  _ fly _ or something equally taxing to reach another mind. But here… The Fade connects everything like an ocean. You simply need hop into a boat and then you are there.”

Anders nodded, gaze distant as he tried to picture the analogy. “And spirits are?”

Fiona frowned, tugging on her hair. “I don’t know if there’s a word in this language… Floating island, perhaps? Mud and grass and plants and peat, all joined together through the roots, but drift across the water where it may, unattached at the bottom.”

“Oh, a tussock. Yes, that makes sense.”

“Yes. All I will do is separate the… tussock that is Justice from your island. There is some cross-contamination-plant roots spanning both edges, but I don’t believe it’s a full merge.”

Anders rocked back. “Don’t believe? You were sure before…”

Fiona tied off her braid. “We’re about to see for ourselves, aren’t we?”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You need to make yourself unconscious, but also ensure that you do not enter the Fade. I will come to you.”

 

\---

 

Anders sat up on the chaise and looked around, blinking. Instead of the quiet study, he found himself in the middle of a lush, overgrown pasture. He stood and took a step, but as his legs brushed the tall grasses, his own memories played before his eyes. He shook his head and looked around. Though the pasture was lit as if it were day, all around him was the night, little twinkles of light against a black backdrop. 

With slow steps, he walked to the edge the pasture and looked down. It was an immediate drop off into nothing, he took a step back from the edge and turned, examining it further. A scarred patch of burnt earth drew his attention and he walked towards it.

“It’s your mind. You can go there, if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. There are many things in your head you’d rather not have at the forefront of your mind,” Fiona said. She was wearing unfamiliar grey and bronze armor. A bizarre mix of cloth and metal with bands of colour that might have been decoration, but Anders got the feeling they denoted her rank.

“This isn’t the Fade?”

She shook her head. Instead of the braid she’d just completed in the manor, her hair was in a tight ponytail. “This is your mind, as I said.”

“This is what my mind looks like? For some reason I expected more naked people. And cats. Not in the same places, mind. My mind, that is.” He chuckled.

“Without interference, your mind looks like…” She trailed off and the island in the sky disappeared, replaced by an anonymous Circle tower. “But that would be much more difficult to work with.” As she said the words, the island reappeared.

“Are you  _ sure _ this isn’t the Fade? And why would my mind look like a Circle tower? I spent most of my time trying to get  _ out _ of the tower.”

Fiona rubbed her temples. “You really don’t give your mind enough credit. Yes, I’m sure. Come with me.” She lead him back where the chaise had been, but it was gone, instead there was a copse of sick, blackened trees.

“Is this the taint?” Anders reached out, but stopped his hand just shy of a sick leaf, not sure he wanted to see what memory it held. “It sure looks corrupted enough. Do my insides look like this, you think? I see a lot of other people’s innards, not my own, so much.”

“Yes. It has transcended the physical infection of your body. That’s why I cannot remove it, as I did to Carver. Once you can ‘sense’ darkspawn and ‘hear’ the call of the archdemon, it is too late.”

“And once it spreads to the entire island, I’ll hear the Calling?” Anders asked, his voice wavering. “I’m rather not looking forward to that. I always imagined it would be something like what happened to the Mother. Screeching about wanting to hear the song. Though, speaking of the song, Justice used to talk about lyrium singing to him, but I doubt that was the same sort of song. More like opera, probably.”

Fiona blinked at him and then spent a moment sorting through his ramble. “The Calling?”

Anders opened his mouth to explain, but since they were already in his  _ mind _ , the knowledge just flowed into Fiona, who clutched her head as she tried to process it.

“No... If it spread to the entire island, your mind would be long since fully consumed by madness. I would guess something closer to fifty percent.” She continued walking with him until they came to another edge, where a large, obviously foreign, mass of plants and dirt clung to the side like a tumor.

“And this is Justice,” Anders said needlessly. He walked over to the edge of what was ‘him’ and examined the overgrown vines spanning both areas and the mangled rope bridge beneath. “Is he here? Like we are? It’d be rather nice to have a conversation with him again. Especially now that he’s not rotting.”

“No, Justice isn’t a discrete entity outside of the Fade.”

“If that’s true, why is this here? And that’s not a very nice thing to say about him. For a walking corpse, he was incredibly discreet.”

“Look, this is just a visual analogy, not what’s happening in truth and we really don’t have time for a lesson on Dreamwalking.”

“Sorry.” Anders took a step back. “What’s going to happen to Justice once you separate him?”

“He’ll return to the Fade.”

“But he was stuck here. That was the whole reason we made the agreement in the first place.”

Fiona rubbed her temples again. “I know that. Look at his tussock. There are ‘solid’ parts attached to it that  _ aren’t _ from you. I’m going to remove those, as well as separating him from you and he shouldn’t have any difficulties returning.”

Anders accepted this and watched curiously as Fiona waved her arms in a way reminiscent of directing troops and large rocks and bundles of plants and roots sailed through the air under her direction. He wondered why she even needed his consent if she was going to do everything while he just stood there.

“We’re inside your mind, Anders. Wondering something like that is as good as saying it aloud. And the answer is that if your…  _ you _ was in the Fade, this…  _ place _ would also be in the Fade. And if I managed to get here and you tried to fight me, it would be less clear what is  _ you _ and what is  _ not _ you. I could detach the spirit, but it might have taken a lot of your…” She gestured to the island, “ _ you  _ with it.”

He stared at her, rubbing the gold ring in his ear as he tried to parse what she was saying. “I appreciate you getting my consent then.” He pulled on a low-hanging tree branch and gestured to some weed-like plants around them. “I would hate to lose some of this wonderful greenery.”

“Have I accidentally removed your sense of self-preservation?”

“Never had one, really. Compared to me, Garrett is as cautious as an arl sending an army to kill a bear.”

 

\---

 

Aveline paused before the front door of the Harimann’s manor in Hightown. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sebastian? I can have them brought before the Viscount to answer to the charges.”

“The Harimanns were our allies. I need this.” Sebastian stood just behind Carver, with Fiona at his side. They wore ceremonial armor, his in Starkhaven’s white and royal blue and hers in sharply lined red and silver. Garrett stood a step behind them in the Amell black and red.

The hope was to come to an arrangement between noble houses, but their weapons were not ceremonial.

There was no response to Aveline’s knock. She frowned, glancing at the obvious lit windows against the mid-afternoon dimness. She knocked again, more firmly. “This is the Viscount’s Guard; open up.”

Thought the sound was muffled by the heavy door, they heard a clear, “Help! Please, messere! They’ve gone mad!”

Carver stepped past Aveline and kicked the door down. He drew his sword, but let Aveline lead with her shield raised. Two terrified elven servants sprinted out the open door.

“Brett! What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

The man held a dagger to an elven woman’s throat and was cackling madly between semi-coherent instructions to a shaking elven man, who kept glancing fearfully at the woman. The elf was preparing a crucible right in the entry parlor and the floor was scattered with gold plates, broken jewelry, gold-tipped ceremonial weapons, everything.

“Brett, let her go!” Sebastian shouted and then made a frustrated noise. “He can’t hear us. What’s going on?”

Aveline approached with her shield raised. “Let the girl go! That’s an order!”

But Brett’s eyes continued to look right through them.

Garrett raised his staff and the human’s arm froze, locking the knife in place. Aveline lunged forward and pulled the servant free, shouting, “Go to the Keep! Wait in the guard barracks.”

Though half-frozen, Brett continued to struggle against Aveline and Carver. Before he could shatter his arm, Fiona stepped up and placed her hand on his face. “ _ Sleep _ .” The man went limp.

“He must be possessed. This is  _ madness _ .” Sebastian stood over the slumped body of his one-time friend. “I don’t understand.”

“This won’t be the end of it. Our records on the Harimann family say he has two more siblings and then the mother, Johane, should all be here.” Aveline tied the sleeping man’s limbs together and stood, looking further into the manor. “Let’s hope we didn’t come too late.”

“Yes. Ruxton and Flora. I hope we find them.” Sebastian was as tense as his bow’s string and walked stiffly forward.

Aveline and Carver continued to lead the way, their weapons drawn. They were just about to leave the front hall to begin on the stairs to the upper levels when Flora Harimann staggered out of the formal dining room. “More wine! Stupid, useless servants. Why can’t they bring the barrel to my rooms? Making me  _ walk _ . More wine!”

“Oh, Flora…” Sebastian said.

Fiona came up behind Aveline, using the shield as protection to get a range before, “ _ Sleep _ .” Carver caught the poor woman before she hit the floor and loosely bound her while Aveline remained on guard.

“Why don’t I ever get invited to these kinds of parties?” Garrett asked.

“Not now, Garrett,” said the other four with varying levels of vitriol.

“We should do a proper sweep of the lower-” Carver cut himself off as a terrified sob sounded from upstairs. He and Aveline took the stairs two at a time. Carver kicked down the door and grabbed a naked Ruxton off of another servant, this one with a ripped blouse. She ran to Aveline and hid behind the captain’s shield. Aveline started trying to calm and reassure the girl.

“I can’t believe this. Ruxton was always such a prude. Look away, Fiona.”

She didn’t even bother rolling her eyes at him, she just walked forward, unmoved by Ruxton’s sudden fervor in her direction.

“Sometime today would be nice, Fiona,” Carver said, struggling to hold the greased up man still.

“ _ Sleep _ .” Fiona turned and looked at Garrett. “You’re the mage, what’s going on here?”

“It looks like compulsion, not direct possession. Definitely a Desire demon.” He rubbed his beard. “Unless the Harimanns-”

“Don’t you dare joke about this, Garrett,” Sebastian interrupted, voice hard.

Garrett cleared his throat. “Yes. Desire demon.”

“We should look for Lady Harimann,” Aveline said after instructing the girl to go hide in the barracks. She lead the way through the upper levels, checking every room.

“Here,” Garrett said in one room that didn’t appear any different than the others.

“This was Johane’s room when I was a child,” Sebastian said, looking around.

“The door to the servant’s stair is ajar,” Carver said. Once the others had gathered, he lead the way down, but instead of stopping at the first level, the stairs kept going.

“I don’t remember them having a basement in this part of the manor…”

“I can feel the demon’s disruption of the Fade here,” Garrett said, his staff glowing softly.

When they stepped into the basement extension, shades popped out of the ground. They were weak and easily brought down as the group pressed forward.

“Oh look at this. Ruins under Kirkwall. Certainly nothing bad will happen if we excavate them!” Garrett snapped his mouth shut under the sheer power of Sebastian’s glare.

Finally, Aveline stopped and pointed ahead. “That must be Lady Harimann.”

“And the Desire demon.” Carver finished.

Sebastian’s shocked protests to Lady Harimann--their families had been friends, why had she done it--petered out as the realization struck. “The demon did this.” 

“Me? I did nothing,” the demon protested, tone low and silky. “She  _ wanted  _ this. She was so jealous of your entire family. It was already there. I merely… showed her the truth.” 

“You’re a demon. Every ‘truth’ you show is a twisted, evil lie.” 

“Hardly.” The demon spread its hands to encompass both Sebastian and Fiona. “You want the same thing she does. Starkhaven, under your rule. This woman of yours wants it more than you! Perhaps as proxy for the ruling that has passed beyond  _ her  _ reach.” 

It paced towards Fiona. “Oh yes. Your desire is delicious. Are you so sure that it can’t be done? With my help…” 

“If you were strong enough to give it to me, you wouldn’t be scrounging the weak-minded in Kirkwall,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Hrmph.” The demon moved her attention to Sebastian. “Perhaps you’re only good enough for her as a Prince. Is that why you do it? I’m quite… familiar with actions based on _ that  _ desire. I understand.” 

“I am the rightful heir of Starkhaven,” he countered, face flushed but voice steady. “I want what’s best for  _ my  _ people.”

“How quickly the vows you fled into fall away.” 

“I will still serve the Maker as Prince. You’ll not shake my faith, demon.” 

Scowling, the demon whirled on Carver, sidling up to him, but perhaps not quite as seductive as it thought it was. “What about you, Baby Hawke? I know you want what your brother’s found with the former abomination.”

“Eugh, Anders? I’d never.” 

“ _ Not  _ Anders,” the demon snapped. “Someone who feels that way for you. Those nights you spend are so empty without-”

Garrett interrupted with a loud retch. “Let’s skip the rest of the temptations. I really don’t want to hear about what Carver’s paying for in the Rose,” he said as he flung a fireball at the demon, barely missing singing his brother.

“I’m not  _ paying _ ! You asshole!” the younger Hawke snarled, but attacked the demon as well.

The demon went down quickly and Fiona knelt at the side of the fallen Lady Harimann. “She’d been subsisting off the demon for some time. Without it…”

“A terrible loss,” Sebastian said. He touched Fiona’s shoulder. “As horrible as it is, I’m glad there was a demon behind this. It calms my heart to think there wasn’t so much… personal animosity towards my family.”

“What about her children? I know they’re a little tied up at the moment-”

“GARRETT.”   
  
“But something will have to be done.”

Sebastian didn’t so much as glance at Fiona for her input. It was his family that had been wronged. “Their servants should be released from their contracts and have that be the end of it. The compulsion should be gone now that the demon is defeated.”   


“Are you certain?” Aveline asked. “They ordered the assassination of your family.”

“Revenge helps no one. They will have difficulty hiring new servants, once word of this spreads. That’s punishment enough.” He turned. “Garrett, I trust you’ll see Fiona safely home? I need some time to… think.”

“Of course.”

Sebastian left them, all but fleeing the basement. Fiona stood. “I would have sent them all to Meredith to check for ‘possession.’”

“You’re evil.”

“That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

 

\---

 

The moon hung high in the sky over the half-wild garden at the Amell estate. Sebastian sat on the wrought-iron bench, waiting for Fiona to join him. She a few minutes, she did, her hair loose over her shoulders for once. He stood and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently. “Thank you for coming with me to confront the Harimanns. I was happy to have your support.”

Fiona bade him to sit and then held out the wrapped parcel, sitting once he took it. “Flora found this in the manor, after everything. She was too ashamed to give it to you herself.”

“This is…” Sebastian’s breath caught as he opened the parcel. “This is my grandfather’s bow.” He ran his hands over the wood reverently. “I thought it gone forever. At least there was one thing good to come out of that… nightmare with the demon.”

“Once you restring it, we should go hunting.”

“You can shoot?”

“Not at all. But you can teach me and then I’ll use a little help.” She wiggled her fingers, which glowed for a moment.

Sebastian pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re a wonder,” he said with a laugh. “I’d love to.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and then set the bow on the ground. “I’ve been thinking about our future. I know we’ve spoken about it with vague promises, but now that my family can rest peacefully, I thought it was time we should discuss it.”

Fiona nodded and took her hand in hers. “The only plan I’ve had for myself was elevation. Which should be… soon. I know it.”

“I’m the last of my line. It’s important that I don’t reclaim my title, only to have the city fall into a mess of succession if something were to happen to me. If you’re willing, I would like to be married once I’ve reclaimed my lands.”

“Or once I have my title. Whichever comes first. I’ve discussed it with-”

Sebastian cut her off with an enthusiastic kiss. HIs mouth moved against hers and he pulled her nearly onto his lap. He broke off with a chuckle. “I’m sorry. You just… You make me so happy.”

Fiona smiled and touched his face. “Don’t apologize. As I was saying, I discussed it with Leandra, and she agrees that the politics might actually be  _ better _ if I have my title first. I have a lot of trade contacts and my influence is spreading outside of Kirkwall. It could give you more leverage for retaking Starkhaven with as little loss as possible. And having an heir in sight would settle some nerves.”

“Oh, but the Maker sent you to me,” Sebastian said before reclaiming her mouth.

 

\---

 

“Yes, Varric, we  _ know _ she’s the Princess of Starkhaven. That doesn’t explain the assassins.”

“Leliana, don’t interrupt him! He has to tell the entire story!”  
  
“Thank you, Seeker,” Varric said, an amused glint in his eye. “But I was just getting to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one part remaining in the DA2 portion of this story. As the Inqusition portion is _not_ being relayed to someone as a story, it will lack the narrative outlining by Varric and will be a separate work here on AO3.
> 
> I blame the incompetent desire demon on my husband 100%.
> 
> There were many choices my husband and I agonized over, when to introduce her being one of the biggest. If she was present when Hawke fled Lothering, Bethany and Wesley would have both survived (her family's temple IS in Southeast by East Ferelden), but due to some things that come up later, it wouldn't have worked as well.
> 
> If she'd slept with Carver instead of nudging Isabela into it, she would have started a relationship with him and would have pushed him into Kirkwall politics as the years progressed. Further, if her combat acumen had kept Carver from being Blighted in the first place, she would not have revealed her magic to any but her LI until the time came that Anders seemed to be losing control to Justice/Vengeance.
> 
> The last big one that's covered in posted chapters was the Fade section. Who goes, what are they tempted with, etc, etc. The main point of contention was Sebastian, who outright refuses to go in game, but since he had resolved in Act 1 with certainty that he was returning to Starkhaven, he was more easily pushed into going along to "protect" Squiggles.


	7. Bad Ideas

“So, Squiggles, I hear you finally got the bottom of your little Tevinter problem.”

“Oh  _ do _ tell,” Isabela said, leaning over the table, ostensibly to show off her breasts, but in truth to glance at other people’s cards.

Fiona laughed, a slightly self-deprecating sound and she hid her face behind her cards. “Apparently, Tevinter and the Qun are  _ very _ interested in the origin of my ‘ancient elvhen artifacts.’” For once, she didn’t protest as Isabela pickpocketed her. The pirate dropped one of the ancient coins on the table.

Aveline picked up the gold piece and examined it. “What is this?”

“Squiggles has been selling them since she got to Southern Thedas. That’s how she paid for your bribes into the city.” Varric said, tossing his bet onto the pile.

“Really? I was sure she just used her magic to make the guards let us in.” Garrett matched Varric’s bet and added a silver.

“Can magic even do that?” Carver asked.

“Blood magic,” Fenris snarled, folding his hand.

“I would just rather have coins from Arlathan than blood magic,” Merrill said.

“I wasn’t aware you liked anything more than blood magic.” Anders took a sip from his beer, having already folded. “And skipping through meadows and dancing naked in the moonlight. You know, Dalish things.”

“Come now, don’t be catty, Anders.” Sebastian said, tightening his arm around Fiona’s waist. While not gambling, he at least joined the group to socialize.

Fiona cleared her throat and then threw her cards down in disgust. “During the height of the Elvhenan Empire, my family had a temple built in what is now Ferelden to be used as a bolthole when things went poorly back home, as they tend to, so it was supplied with a great deal of the then-local currency. My ancestors just didn’t expect it to be so long before we used it.”

“Ohhh, can I see it? You’ll let me see it, right?” Merrill knocked over two pints as she fell across the table. 

“I’m sorry, Merrill, but no. But there’s nothing else in there. It was just the gold and the sword.” She removed the sheath from her belt and put it on the table. “Here, you can look at the sword some more.”

Merrill knocked over another glass as she sat back down with the sword and ran her fingers over every detail.

“Not that you’re not strange enough, but how was your family able to get gold and a sword and a  _ temple _ from the ancient elves anyway? Weren’t humans living in mud huts back then?” Garrett said, scratching his beard.

“Tevinter did destroy the elven empire, just like they do everything they touch,” Fenris said.

“But she specified that it was the  _ height _ of the empire.” Anders said, now also curious. “I’m sure the Magisters were preparing their demons and oppression, but surely the elves had some defense against invaders.”

Fiona ran her hand over her hair and muttered to herself in her native language, trying to put her thoughts in order. “They didn’t consider us as humans. Humans they grouped into ‘ _ shemlen, _ ’ but my family they called ‘ _ shirallen. _ ’”

“Journey’s children,” Anders said, looking at Merrill for confirmation, but the blood mage was too focused on the sword. “That’s fine. I was sure, anyway. I  _ am _ incredibly clever.”

“Yes. Everyone in my family is taught elvish as children, though we’ve used it as a secret language with each other more than anything else, so I’m not exactly fluent.” She shrugged. “We had knowledge and power they didn’t. I don’t know the details, but apparently we didn’t give them much, considering the piss-poor technology you have now.”

“And you think that’s what the ‘Vints want?”

“The only people who know about it are dead elves or us at this table. And I doubt the ‘Vints are smart enough to even want it. The Ben-Hassrath on the other hand…” She took a drink.

Varric looked around the filthy pub. “And you’re talking about it in public. Good job, Squiggles.”

Fiona wiggled her fingers, which were now obviously glowing, but only for a moment. “No one can hear what I’m saying. And no one in the bar right now is an agent. At best, they’d have hearsay.”

Isabela leaned back in her seat and folded her arms under her chest. “Not bad, Princess. Now all you have to is convince the Qunari that the ‘Vints are behind this.” The pirate laughed at her expression. “Don’t make that face. I’m sure you would have thought of it eventually.”

 

\---

 

Garrett grabbed Fiona’s arm and dragged her back into the street from the Amell manor. Sebastian, holding her other arm, was brought along for the ride. “It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“Mother hasn’t come home yet.” Garrett said. He released her hand, but kept moving, nearly at a run, out of Hightown.

Fiona cursed and followed along, a step behind. She held both arms up, tying her hair as she followed. “I  _ told _ you that boyfriend was dangerous. I told  _ her _ , I told  _ you _ , I can’t believe this!”

“Sebastian, find a guard, have him get Carver. We’re going to Lowtown,” Garrett ordered. “It’s worse than even you thought, Fiona. Remember that Templar Emeric? Investigating the murders?”

Fiona’s voice rose an octave and her swearing was nearly loud enough to echo. “I  _ knew _ she was in danger! Why couldn’t she just listen?”

Sebastian caught up with them as they reached the end of Hightown and Carver met them a few blocks from the Hanged Man. “Where are we going?”

“The foundry where we found the remains a few years ago. I’ve been so  _ stupid _ . I should have stopped her!” Garrett’s staff glowed with his roiling emotions.

A few cutpurses lingered in the alleys the group passed, but stayed hidden at the sight of Carver’s guard armor and Garrett’s obvious magic. Carver kicked down the door to the foundry and the four of them swept the room. Fiona stood in the center of the room for a moment before kneeling and spreading out with her magic.

“Trapdoor.”

Garrett didn’t wait for details, he felt out with his own magic and then used it to rip off the door before pushing into the tunnel. The others followed in grim silence. Once the tunnel opened up into a basement area, Garrett shuddered. “Blood magic here. A lot of it.”

“You and Carver keep going. If anything comes up, we’ll handle it,” Fiona said, sword drawn with its enchantments glowing. “Find Mother.”

A few dessicated corpses rose from the soft ground, but between Sebastian’s bow and Fiona’s sword, they were no real threat. When they caught up to the brothers, it was just in time to hear Garrett’s wail of despair and Carver’s shout of “Mother!”

Fiona glanced once at veiled  _ thing _ standing before them and stuck out her left hand. The blood mage immediately froze and flew back against the wall, clutching as his throat. He screamed and more skeletons tore themselves from the ground.   
  
Garrett didn’t even turn his head, he just slammed the butt of his staff into the ground and the skeletons dissolved. “You did this. Your time is over.”

“No, Garrett. His suffering is just beginning.” Fiona’s entire body began to glow, but instead of the soft white her magic usually manifested as, it was sickly purple.

“You’re right. You were right the whole time. We’ll do it your way.” Magic crackled around Garrett as the two of them stared, near emotionlessly at the blood mage.

They were both rocked out of their focus as Carver’s broadsword cut the man clean in two. Panting, he stared at them. “He already killed Mother. I won’t let him destroy the two of you.”

“G-garrett…” The body shuddered as the magic began to dissipate. 

Garrett caught the body and lowered it gently to the ground, quickly surrounded by his brother and Fiona.

“Carver…”

“Mother. I’m so sorry. I should have been able to protect you from this. I should have been there.” Carver reached out and touched his mother’s cheek.

“You did everything you could. You all did. And now you’ve released me. He planned to keep me like that. And you Fiona, you knew. Don’t feel guilty. I love you all. You’re all my children. I’ll be with Bethany and your father. You have each other. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Mother…”

The body reached out and touched Carver’s arm, speaking with the last of its magic. “You’ve made me so proud.”

Carver broke first, sobbing loudly and then screaming.

Garrett remained bent over the corpse, shaking silently.

Fiona stood in a rush, the purple glow returning and spiking violently around her. Her voice was harsh and near breaking. “Get Anders. Then take Carver back to the manor.”

Sebastian stepped towards her, but froze when she jerked away. “Love, what about you?”

“I need to go. This…” She waved her arm and the magic snapped and cracked around her. “I need to go.”

 

\---

 

Sebastian paced back and forth across the front hall of the Amell estate all night. At some point, Merrill had shown up. He hadn’t questioned it, just point up to the study where both brothers, Anders and the serving girl Orana were curled up crying and drinking.

Fumbling at the door sounded some time after dawn and Sebastian went over to open it. Fenris stood there, half supporting Fiona who was thankfully no longer glowing. He gently passed her over to Sebastian. “She’s already had half a bottle of wine and hasn’t slept, just so you know,” Fenris added.

“Thank you, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded and turned to walk away, but stopped at the property line. “She’s different than I thought. When she’s back to herself, let her know she’s always welcome.”

“Of course.” Sebastian closed the door and then just held Fiona for a while. She wasn’t crying or even really responding. “Come on, Love. Let’s get you with the others.” He half-carried her up the stairs, eventually setting her between Garrett and Carver.

The silence in the study was oppressive. Sebastian could have handled sobbing. He could have handled rages and screaming. But this bone-deep, silent ache squeezed his heart to the point he couldn’t even pray for them. He hadn’t been close to Leandra, so any words that found their way to his mouth just felt trite and empty.

His steps were never as light as they were when he left the grieving family there in the study. He made a few arrangements with Bohdan and then lingered in the Amell foyer, feeling powerless and ineffectual. Part of him wanted to stalk across Hightown and interrogate Fenris. To ask him what he should say, what he should do. He’d lost his family, yes, but it was all in one horrific event. He didn’t know how to comfort people the Maker continually turned His back on. What do you say to someone who’s lost everything more than once?

With a heavy heart, he left the estate to go to the Chantry. He’d ask the Grand Cleric for advice. And then he’d pray.

 

\---

 

“You know Squiggles, as much as I want the assassinations off your back, you  _ have _ had three unconscious ‘Vints  _ in my suite _ for the last week.” Varric said, looking up from the writing desk he had crammed into his room at the Hanged Man.

Fiona knelt with Anders next to one of said ‘Vints, her hands glowing. Her voice was far away and distracted. “Rewriting memories without them going completely mad isn’t exactly easy, Varric.”

“And interrupting her concentration is definitely speeding up the process,” Anders said, his mind present, though his hands were glowing blue where they sat on either side of the ‘Vint’s head. “I know I do  _ my _ best work when constantly interrupted.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Big Bird, Blondie.”

“Big Bird?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“I was like this long before I met him. I’m charming. I was just a little too zealous about justice for a while there.” Anders paused and looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. “Where is Garrett, anyway?”

“You’re the one joined to him at the hip.” Varric grumbled under Anders’s stare. “Fine, he’s out begging Seamus Dumar to go visit his father.”

“The Viscount’s son? Where is he?”

Fiona snapped to attention then, the glow around her hands disappearing. “Blasted idiot’s converted to the Qun. The Council of Nobles is half-ready to give me Dumar’s title and oust that political nightmare, so they can get started on picking a new Viscount.”   
Varric scratched a few notes in his book. “The only reason they haven’t is because there’s no good candidate for the Viscount’s seat. The few with the wits to rule the city properly don’t have the influence to stand up to Meredith and the ones with the influence don’t have the stones.”

Fiona gestured to the next Tevinter man and he and Anders moved over to repeat the process. “As awful as the Qun is, I’ve got to give them credit for compartmentalization in their organization. I’ve raided the minds of at least ten Ben-Hassrath, but they have no idea what the Arishok is up to.” Her body relaxed as she sank into the magical process.

“So if she’s doing all of the brain scrambling, what are  _ you _ doing, Blondie?” Varric said, not looking up from his papers.

“The Fade blocks and distorts her magic. I have to hold their consciousness in a very specific place between waking and sleeping for the fake memories to take hold. Really, it’s a waste of my talent.” A strand of hair fell into Anders’s face and he tried to blow it away, but the movement just made a second lock fall into view. He blew hard, but it didn’t help. He frowned, unable to lift his hands away from the ‘Vint.

“Yeah, well-” Varric stopped as the door to his room burst open.

Carver appeared, red-faced and out of breath. “We need you all in Hightown.  _ Now _ .”

Varric stood and grabbed Bianca. “What’s going on, Junior?”

“Mother Petrice just killed Seamus Dumar in the Chantry.”

The white glow around Fiona’s hands turned to purple and burned fiercely for a moment before she stood. “Whatever. He’ll just be addled. We got the other two. You go ahead. I’ll finish with these and meet you there.”

 

\---

 

“And that’s how she convinced the Ben-Hassrath that Magister Trajan Decius was the real source of the Arlathan gold and she was just an unwitting proxy,” Varric said, leaning back and folding his hands in his lap.

Leliana rubbed her chin as she considered this. “And the Qunari invasion, the Arishok, she had no part in that?”

“No part. And we should all be thankful. I told her about the saar-qamek incident a few years later and a bunch of giant spiders around her just  _ exploded _ from her anger. She started ranting about biological weapons and war crimes and how she was going to gut every member of the Qun that dared threaten her or her city.” He cracked his knuckles. “As she tells it, she could easily, and without magic, make an explosion ten times the size of Anders’s little fireworks, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“You say  _ that _ and expect us to believe she’s  _ not _ responsible for the explosion at the Conclave?” Leliana asked.

“Yeah, the Breach is obviously magical and obviously tied to the Fade. Squiggles has no part in that weird shit. Plus, the explosion is bad for Starkhaven. She’s head over heels for  _ Choir Boy _ , do you really think she’d kill the Divine?”

Cassandra leaned forward. “What happened next?”

“Since the Arishok killed Dumar during the invasion, his lands and title were up for assignment. As expected, that title landed on Squiggles’s shoulders. She and Choir Boy got married and then they started trying to win back Starkhaven in earnest, travelling around the Free Marches, Nevarra, Antiva, Orlais and one trip to Ferelden, but that wasn’t political.”

“No?”

“That family temple Squiggles kept mentioning is in Ferelden. She wanted to show Choir Boy everything she had left of her home. And before you ask, I have no idea what’s in there. All I know is that the contents troubled Choir Boy pretty deeply. He wasn’t back to his boring, devout self until Squiggles came back to Kirkwall to stay for a while.”

“Why did she come back when the tensions between the mages and templars were so high?”

“Because she wasn’t going to have the baby on the road or in Starkhaven while the title was still disputed. The only family either of them had left was in Kirkwall.”

“So she had no part in inciting the rebellion?”

“None.”

“Varric…”

“Squiggles is the scariest bitch I know. I’m not gonna implicate the Princess of Starkhaven in inciting the mage rebellion.”

“All of this is unofficial, Varric. We’re not on a witch hunt, we just need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Fine. So Squiggles came back and stayed at the Amell estate to have Baby Vael while Sebastian tried to shore everything up back home.”

 

\---

 

“Please, Carver. Please. I never get a moment of peace. You have to.  _ Please _ .”

“As much as I enjoy  _ you _ asking  _ me _ for a favor, for the fifth time,  _ no _ . Asking repeatedly is just making it  _ weirder _ , not less so.” Carver looked at the smears she was leaving all over his guard armor and bit his tongue to hold in his complaints.

“I can’t take much more of this.”

“I am  _ not _ getting Merrill pregnant just so she leaves you alone! That’s not going to work, anyway, then you’ll just be stuck with Merrill  _ and an infant _ clinging to you.”

Fiona grabbed his arm. “You have to. You owe me.”

Carver half-heartedly tried to pry her off. “I paid you back years ago.”

“Not for getting Isabela to sleep with you.”

Carved stared back, unimpressed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Come on, let go. I have a patrol.”

With a pitiful look, Fiona let him go and watching him like a kicked puppy until he left the estate. Then she held out her right hand. “Give me the sweet buns, Garrett. You said you would.”

With a laugh, Garrett passed them over. “You’re not doing it for me, you’re doing it for Mother. You know she always wanted grandkids.”

Fiona took a large bite and swallowed almost without chewing. “Yeah, that was the first four times I asked. As if I would complain about someone spoiling my baby.”

“She  _ is _ a blood mage,” Anders said, poking his head out of the kitchen.

“Even Merrill knows not to use blood magic around the baby.” She bit viciously into another roll.

Garrett stared at her with that expression. The one that made it clear he was about to say something that would earn him a punch. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant again? With how much you mmmf-”

Anders laughed at his lover, who’d taken a roll right to the face. “I have no sympathy for whatever she does to you. You deserve that.”

“I usually do,” Garrett said, once he was done nearly choking.

 

____

 

The next time Garrett and Anders approached Fiona, they weren’t nearly as cheery. “Look at this,” Hawke said curtly as he pushed a letter in her direction.

_ Champion, if you ever want to see your brother again…   _ The rest was standard, ransom note fare, complete with a time and place for the exchange. Fiona folded the note and passed it back to Hawke. “They’re not even asking for coin. Just for you to be there. Why?” 

“You know that tensions are rising in the Gallows between the Circle mages and the templars,” Anders said. He was angry, but far more in control than he’d been before Justice was removed from him. 

“They’re some kind of radical pro-mage splinter group. Mages and templars both. Aveline says they got Carver when he was patrolling the Wounded Coast,” Hawke growled. “Idiots.  _ I’m  _ a mage. Like hurting my family is the way to convince me Meredith is mad.”

“Well… She  _ is  _ mad.” Anders paused, and hastily added, “But this isn’t the way. Even as the Champion, she’d lock you up for speaking out.” 

“It seems they think that’s a risk they’re willing to take to get my public support.” Garrett shook his head. “I’m obviously not agreeing to anything they say, but I have to make sure they don’t hurt Carver. Would you--” 

“Let’s go,” Fiona said, reaching for her sword. “Orana has William.” 

“What, really? I mean… thanks, but you’ve been staying out of the whole mage-templar situation,” Anders said, blinking at her.

“Carver is  _ our  _ brother. This is personal.”  

 

\---

 

“This is why people are afraid of mages,” Carver sighed. Wounded but alive, comically supported by Merrill’s tiny frame, he glared down at the recently deceased Starkhaven mage who’d been the ringleader of the operation. “Let’s try talking… okay that didn’t work… Time to start the sacrifices and demon summoning.” 

“Not all mages. I’ve put up with  _ your  _ whining for years and I never once summoned any demons. Got tempting, though.” Now that his brother was safe, Garrett appeared to be back to not taking anything seriously--or at least acting the part.

“Not all mages, but it feels like half the Circle mages in Kirkwall… Uh, no offense,” he said, blushing as he remembered Merrill. 

“Why are you apologizing? I’m not a Circle mage.” 

“Yes, well… Actually, nevermind, great point.” 

“Blood magic  _ is  _ wrong,” Anders said, rolling his eyes at both of them, “but Kirkwall’s Circle was already unusually strict, and Meredith’s paranoia after the Qunari attack is just making it worse. The mages are desperate, so they do things like this. Which just makes Meredith crack down harder, which makes it more desperate…” 

“These insane mages were right about one thing,” Hawke said abruptly. “It can’t last like this. We can’t  _ let  _ it last like this.” 

“But what can  _ we  _ do?” 

Fiona shrugged, cleaning off her sword. “I put down insurrections; I don’t start them.”

Hawke laughed. “Oh, we’ve only got the Champion of Kirkwall and the Princess of Starkhaven. Nobody important, really. Nobody’s gonna pay any attention to what  _ we  _ want to do about it all...” 

“Point taken.” 

 

\---

 

Garrett, Anders and Fiona sat huddled around the main desk in the Amell manor’s study. Between them was a detailed map of Hightown. Merrill was on the rug in front of the fire keeping the Vael heir entertained.

Anders pulled at his ponytail. “I tossed the idea out as Justice’s influence, but I’m starting to think the Chantry is our best bet.”

“ _ Surely _ you’re joking,” Fiona said, tone dry.

“ _ You’re _ not Andrastian.”

“It’s full of innocent non-coms. I know the point is to inflame everyone, but how about we go for symbolism instead of mass murder?”  
  
Garrett drummed his fingers on the desk. “Aside from the guard barracks, there’s nothing really in the Viscount’s Keep, is there?”

“The rugs haven’t even been replaced since the invasion. It’s not a  _ bad _ thought. I was thinking one of the noble estates. Family not in residence, of course. One of the  _ many _ problems with the templars is that their numbers are filled with unwanted younger noble siblings. They’ve all got chips on their shoulders with something to prove.”

Anders nodded thoughtfully. “It could work. No one would notice if the staff disappeared before the blast, whereas, if we cleared out the barracks, people would be on high alert.”

“But, people may try to write it off as an attack on that specific family. I’m sure every noble family in Kirkwall has at least one skeleton worthy of destroying a manor.”

Fiona leaned back in her chair and eyed her son as she thought. “The Keep may be the best target, then. If we could time it with some power push Meredith is trying, that’d be best. She made her bullying of Dumar no secret.”

“How do we clear out the barracks, though?” Garrett asked, scratching his beard. “If we implicate Aveline and Carver, there’ll be no one to keep the peace afterward.”

“Riot in the Gallows. That way the guard will be on hand to keep civilians out of the backlash.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you sure you want to take the fall for this, Anders?”

“I’ve already got one death sentence. I’ll happily take another if it means ending the tyranny of the templars.”

 

\---

 

“And that’s the story of Squiggles, Princess of Starkhaven.”

“That doesn’t explain what she’s doing  _ here _ .” Cassandra said.

“I don’t know what she’s doing here, Seeker, I haven’t had a chance to talk to her, what with being your prisoner and all.”

Leliana looked thoughtful. “Varric, you said her magic let her sense when something big was going to happen?”

“Yes. If I had to put money on the table, that’s where it’d go. And before you ask, I don’t know  _ anything _ about this ‘Mage General’ from her home.”  
  
“I suppose it’s time to speak with her directly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Leandra's death, there were... so many options. So many. (None of the least of which was torturing Quentin for literal weeks until he died.) Eventually, we settled on the unnamed thing that happened with Fenris. Not even Sebastian knows what happened, though he knows what other factors lead to it.
> 
> Anyway! The DA2 portion is done :D 
> 
> Inquisition is going to be posted... soonish. It needs heavy editing. Heavy editing. Have you figured out Squiggles's origin IP?
> 
> Another OC from said IP is going to appear in Inquisition, but neither of them are the Inquis. (That would be male!rogue!Lavellen)


End file.
